


The Silver Pocket Watch

by LucyCrewe11 (Raphaela_Crowley)



Series: The Golden Compass / Narnia Fusion Set [1]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, The Golden Compass (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Eventual Romance, F/M, Love Confessions, Lucy and Edmund Aren't Related, Mostly based on Golden Compass Film, Peter and Susan aren't related, Reepicheep is Lucy Pevensie's Daemon, Romance, Sort of follows His Dark Materials except when it doesn't, Susan and Edmund are Mrs. Coulter's children, Written a long time ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 55
Words: 173,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26312068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raphaela_Crowley/pseuds/LucyCrewe11
Summary: This is the story of Lucy Pevensie and her dæmon, Reepicheep, and how one strange object changed their fate - and that of many others - for ever.(Honest summary: The Golden Compass and Narnia characters muck about wallowing in angst for fifty-five chapters)
Relationships: Edmund Pevensie/Lucy Pevensie, Peter Pevensie/Susan Pevensie
Series: The Golden Compass / Narnia Fusion Set [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1911826
Kudos: 12





	1. Lucy and Reep

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written October 2009 through January 2010
> 
> I wasn't going to repost this here, but then I was watching the first two episodes of His Dark Materials the other day and changed my mind. Because I do that sometimes. Because why on earth not.

_The night is cold, bitterly cold. The wind whips at the faces of the trembling men unmercifully. They hunch into alleyways. No one must see them, they think. They needn't worry, there is nothing so very alarming about them, even to the most observant of people. They look like nothing more than a few ordinary persons out for a walk, bundled up in long midnight black and blue cloaks only because it is so very cold. And though they do fret about it terribly, they really don't have much reason to obsess about their dæmons. The dæmons that follow them are settled and will not change shape, giving themselves away. One large dog, one stupid-looking bird, one yellow tabby cat, and of course the little ferret which rides upon the shoulders of his human._

_Of course, they look like nothing more than well-trained pets...but things are not always as they seem. That is a lesson worth remembering if you are going to read this story at all. Perhaps it may even be the moral, though no good story-teller would be stupid enough to announce such a thing in a pitiful attempt to club a reader/listener over the head with it._

_The man who's cloak is the longest, warmest, and darkest, keeps a little bundle concealed in the navy-blue silken lining. It was making a crying noise earlier and they all became fearful, but it had quieted down since then, relaxing them-at least for a few moments._

" _What do we do now?" The man to the left of the one with the bundle whispers in a frightened, strained voice._

" _We must pick a household, one where we know-in all likelihood-she will be safe." Is the almost-curt answer. His dæmon (the large dog) feels her fur raising upwards along in time with the man's own cold, nervous neck-hairs._

" _Don't you think we might have settled that first?" Snaps the man on the right, anxiously eyeing a drunken lout sprawled out in the middle of the dark path, wondering if it could be a trap. "We could have had charts and meetings or something-"_

" _Don't be a fool," Hisses the figure with the ferret dæmon, who turns out not to be a man like the others after all, but a woman-her face well hidden by her hood. "If anyone had caught us...well, you know what would have happened, don't be such an idiot, all right?"_

" _Forgive me, milady, twas ill spoken and poorly thought out of me." He whispers back graciously._

_She lifts her hood up a little, giving him a forgiving smile as they press on. The others are still too frightened to smile; even the one who receives the lady's forgiveness cannot will himself to smile back._

_They step out into the lighted streets below the shinning lampposts, very nearly losing their nerve. The man on the left feels his teeth beginning to chatter and can sense his dæmon is on edge, too._

_Watching any lit windows they pass, trying to be as discreet as possible, they creep along. Finally, they spot what might just be exactly what they are looking for, just what they need so badly. The lady smiles again. This time, there is a smile or two exchanged, almost-relieved ones._

_Inside that house, there is what looks like a sweet, loving, devoted, brave and loyal, husband and wife. The husband is deep-chested and broad-shouldered, and very handsome, too. The wife looks exactly as a perfect mother should, warm bluish eyes, creamy skin, pretty brown curls. The way the couple smile at each other is a dead give away, they love each other dearly. They are a family._

" _I do hope we're doing the right thing." Whispers the man with the bird dæmon._

" _I'm certain of it." Says the woman, marching up boldly towards the house and rapping the knocker down smartly, three times, very quickly._

_The others seem startled by her firmness, still shaking a little in their boots, but they follow her anyway. The one with the bundle stands just behind her._

_The door opens and there is the woman. They ask her name and she, being a friendly, kindly soul, gives it to them. "I am Helen Pevensie."_

" _May we come in?" The man with the bundle lifts up his hood to reveal his weather-beaten but still strangely appealing face._

_Knowing it is cold and also somehow understanding that the people mean her and her husband no harm, she lets them in and even offers to take their cloaks and capes for them._

_The woman allows her to do so, as well as the man who had been standing to the left, but the others politely refuse._

_Shrugging to herself, Helen calls for her husband, Mr. Pevensie. He arrives and, though he is a little confused by the strangers-and their peculiar animals-coming like this, he greets them kindly and offers the men a glass of brandy. One man takes it, the others do not._

_The man with the bundle opens his cloak and shows the contents to the husband and wife. They can't believe their eyes, a baby! A living breathing, little baby! What on earth?_

" _Quick, Helen, fetch Peter's old cradle, will you? So that the baby will have somewhere to be laid out." Says Mr. Pevensie._

_Helen does as her husband tells her and brings out the cradle; the baby is laid in it, and Mrs. Pevensie recoils in horror when she notices what looks like a small deer-mouse clinging to the child's right foot. She tries to shoo it away, but the woman tells her she mustn't do that._

" _It's not what you think, it's a..." her voice becomes lower now. "...It's a dæmon, Mrs. Pevensie, the baby's dæmon."_

_Helen goes quite white in the face. "But I thought...I didn't know that there really were such things...I thought they were just fairy-tales..."_

_Mr. Pevensie's eyes widen; he has just realized for himself what the other 'animals' in his house really are. "Oh, my."_

_The men and the woman explain themselves quietly and plead with the couple to assist them. How can they refuse? Mr. And Mrs. Pevensie are just nodding in agreement, dumbstruck as they listen. Their golden-haired little son, Peter, though he is supposed to be in bed, comes downstairs and notices the 'animals'-he reaches to pet the dog, to stroke its fur because it looks oh so very soft._

_His father sees this and grabs him before he can do so, before it is too late. Peter doesn't know that it's a dæmon, so he is not scolded, only told he must not touch any of the 'animals' no matter how pretty they are._

_Confused, Peter trots over to the cradle and looks down at the baby. It is a she baby, a female. She gurgles up at him and smiles widely; her dæmon seems to like him, too, though he doesn't move from clutching the child's foot._

_"Her name is Lucy." The man tells the couple and their son. "Her dæmon is called Reepicheep."_

_"Lucy," repeats Peter, looking down at the baby as if she is the most beautiful little thing he has ever set his eyes on, in spite of the fact that in reality, she is terribly flushed and growth-stunted, with a turned up nose. Not the most charming baby you could imagine even with her sweet, chubby, cherub-like cheeks._

_"Look after her." The woman pleads._

_"We will." The husband and wife say._

_But it is Peter, their son, the one who is not really needed to do anything except to help keep the secret, who whispers to the baby. "Always, I'll always look after you, little Lucy."_

Eight years later...

Peter watched sadly as his little sister, Lucy Pevensie, gently scooped up her dæmon, Reepicheep, and slipped him into a brown leather pouch; they were going out and no one else was allowed to see her beloved Reep. He could have shape-shifted into a smaller mouse or a cat or any other more pet-like form of his and followed her about that way, but how would it look to people if Lucy _always_ had a pet with her? They might just conclude that she was simply an animal lover-which wasn't untrue-but if they should suspect...no, it was safer this way, much as Reepicheep might fuss about now undignified it was and thrash about.

They had both grown a great deal, the little girl and her dæmon. Lucy, now a child of eight, had pretty, wispy reddish-brown hair which in some lightings looked almost fair rather than dark, and she had grown into her round face and button nose so that they didn't seem so out of place anymore. In his mouse form (the form he took most often), Reepicheep was taller, almost the size of a very small cat or particularly long mink or ferret. He was small enough to hide quickly without having to resort to changing his shape right away, small enough to ride on Lucy's shoulder as she wandered around the hallways of the Pevensies' house, but large enough so that he wasn't at all likely to get stepped on. At some point in time, he'd gotten a golden band around one ear with a red feather in it, as well as a fine sword just the right shape and side for him to use. No one could say for certain when these had started to appear with him; only that they were prone to vanishing when he took on a different form.

Peter wished he didn't have to keep little Lucy's dæmon hidden, but there was no other way to protect her. No one else in their world had dæmons (or if they did, they certainly weren't visible to the human eye).

Lucy was more than a little grateful for the love and protection of her elder brother, who, although he made it quite clear that she was a little _different_ from other children, had never told her about where she had really come from. As far as the girl knew, she had been born to Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie just as her brother had. She never could get him to explain-without stammering-why exactly she, and she alone, had a dæmon, but of course that didn't mean he did not love her. In fact, there were times when she thought Peter was the only real friend she had.

Two years before, when she had only been about six years old, some children had come over to play while their parents chatted with Mr. And Mrs. Pevensie in the dinning room. At first, things had gone splendidly; Reep being hidden behind a small dust bin in the corner of her room-shifted into one of his smallest deer mouse shapes-simply watching everything in silence. After a while, however, he got a little bored and longed to come on out and get a good look at his human's new playmates for himself. Knowing better than to just make himself known as a mouse dæmon, completely unbidden, he had cleverly shape-shifted into a golden-brown kitten and crawled a little further out to have a better look at everything.

It was disastrous; the child nearest to him instantly reached over and snatched him up, sticking their jam-stained fingers right into his soft, delicate ears. He wanted to scream for Lucy to help him, but he knew it would only make things worse if the rough child discovered the 'kitten' he was manhandling could speak. Besides, if he was in pain, Lucy was in pain, too. She whimpered and put her hands to her own ears, silently praying for Reep to squirm away and hide himself again.

Another child pulled Reepicheep's tail. Very hard. Lucy cried out loudly-feeling as though someone was twisting off her own arm. One of the children even attempted to swing Reep by his tail before getting a nasty scratch on their left hand. Their simply _touching_ Reeepicheep made Lucy uncomfortable; she knew somehow without being told that you weren't supposed to touch someone else's dæmon, Peter rarely did, and her parents never had. But to have them pulling and swinging and pushing and yanking at him like this was hurting her so much she thought she might die. The room spun in her own eyes when Reep got dizzy; when they hurt him, they hurt her, too.

Nothing else for it, poor Lucy had lumbered across the room and tried to rescue her dear Reep. The other children were bigger and stronger than she was; they pushed her away. As she fell backwards, Reepicheep winced, feeling his own knees and back aching.

The tormented little girl's cries became louder and Peter-who was in another room a few doors down-finally heard her and rushed in. When he saw her, he wanted to cry. Her face was pale and tear-stained and she flinched constantly as if suffering from thousands of invisible bruises.

"What do you think you're doing?" Without waiting for an answer, he had more or less shoved one of the other children out of the way and rescued Reepicheep, placing the poor thing back into the arms of his mistress.

"I didn't mean to let them hurt you." Sobbed Lucy, tightly embracing her dæmon. "I'd never...never...never..."

The other children assumed she was being rather a big baby, over-protective of her pet, and that her brother was a terrible sport about it, spoiling her just because she was his little sister. They didn't like her after that, but she didn't care, she had a very low opinion of _them_ , as well.

It wouldn't be completely truthful to say she had never made any friends after that, but it would be close enough to the facts all the same. There had been one little girl about a year or so ago, Marjorie Preston. Marjorie had been reasonably kind and had even been somewhat acquainted with Reepicheep though she was under the impression that he was Lucy's pet mouse (he had always shape-shifted into a handsome little black-furred mouse with golden eyes, small enough to fit into a decoy cage, whenever she came around). However, Marjorie, had unwittingly said something a little mean about Lucy to an older girl which was taken out of context. When it got back to Lucy-and Reep-they both had their ego bruised so badly that they couldn't imagine being friends with her any longer. They might have forgiven Marjorie in time, but she had moved away before the sting of the matter had faded. They never saw her anymore.

So now, all Lucy really had was her brother. Not that she minded very much, he was as loyal a friend as she could have ever wanted, even if he was a borderline father figure in her life.

"Peter, how long will we be out today?" asked Lucy, eyeing the swaying pouch at her side. "Reep's restless, he doesn't like it."

He patted the top of her head in a gentle manner. "Not long, just a little walk around, a few errands, you..." he looked sort of pained. "...you haven't been out of the house for a week, Lu, you're looking too pale."

She knew he had a point and it wasn't that she didn't like going out, Reepicheep had just been raising some mortal fuss about it lately. It wasn't like she could blame him, _he_ never got to see anything expect for the rare occasions when it was safe to pretend he was a pet.

Peter bent down and helped Lucy with a few forgotten buttons on her coat. "Can't have you catching your death, now can we?"

"You wouldn't let that happen." Lucy teased, grinning up at him as he picked up a hat from the rack and placed it on her head. It was a little too big and it fell over her eyes, blocking her sight until he was ready to adjust it for her. "I haven't been sick in four years."

He took his little sister's hand and opened the door. "Come along, Lu."

From the staircase, they heard their mother's voice calling out to remind them not to forget to buy some more sugar while they were out.

An hour or so later, Peter and Lucy were at the local bakery, only a block from their house. Thankfully, Reepicheep hadn't made any noise or given himself away, it was almost like he was asleep-which Lucy hoped was the case because he had been very feisty lately, very honour oriented and ready to duel and stuff.

Unfortunately, Reep (if he had been asleep, he certainly wasn't anymore), didn't stay down, he poked his head out of the pouch just a little bit to see where they were and what was taking so long.

It was a small, tidy, family-run bakery and there weren't any other consumers present. A very large orange cat laying on a stack of flour bags in the corner yawned and looked over at Reepicheep's peeping head in a very condescending manner. Taking it to be a sort of challenge, the dæmon jumped out of the pouch and ran over to the now-startled cat.

"Peter!" Lucy whisper-cried to her brother when she felt the pouch get lighter.

He didn't seem to hear her at first so she tugged on his sleeve. "Peter!"

"Certainly, Lu, whatever you like." Peter had been right in the middle of telling the baker what sort of bread loafs Mr. Pevensie wanted that week and hadn't heard the urgency in her voice right away.

"Peter!" Whimpered Lucy, tugging harder. "It's, Reep! He's gotten out, he's not in my pouch!"

His eyes widened and he scanned the room for the troublesome little rat. Of course he loved Reepicheep-he was a major part of Lucy after all-but sometimes he felt absolutely furious with him for causing so much trouble. Like now, for instance.

"Reepicheep, you little ass," Peter muttered under his breath so that the baker couldn't hear him. "where did you get off to?"

There was a cat-like muffled-mew and everyone snapped to attention. The baker's cat was all tied up and bound with ropes and cords. A few feet away, noticed-thankfully-only by Lucy and Peter, was Reepicheep in his little black, golden-eyed tiny mouse form waiting for his human to scoop him up again.

Smiling to herself, even though she knew she really ought not to find the cat's humiliation funny, Lucy lifted her dæmon up and placed him back into the pouch.

Peter rolled his eyes and sighed. "Reepicheep, is there no end of trouble with you?" he slipped his arm around Lucy's shoulders and led her back home again where, much to the displeasure of their slightly-worried parents, they had a good laugh over it.

Even though his laughter-tears and chuckles, Peter couldn't help wondering how much longer he would be able to protect Lucy and Reepicheep. He'd made his promise and he intended to keep it, even if he had to die in the attempt. But he had to admit to himself, as he helped tuck Lucy into bed like he did every night, planting a good-night kiss on her forehead, he was more than a little afraid of their future- _her_ future.


	2. A secret gift of silver

"We're leaving?" Lucy blurted out in disbelief.

Reepicheep, who had been sitting on the corner of Lucy's seat at the dinning room table she always saved for him, poked his head upwards so that he could look over at Mrs. Pevensie. He shape-shifted into a somewhat pudgy hedgehog, the tallest-and least appealing-of all his forms, when his current mouse-shape did not allow him to see more than a half-inch or so above the side of the table.

Mrs. Pevensie sighed deeply while Mr. Pevensie rubbed his temples, they had known this was not going to go over very well, especially with little Lucy, because she was so young, but they knew what they had to do.

"You'll only have to go away for a little while, sweetheart." Helen assured her in the gentlest tone possible. "I promise you."

"Just me and Reep?" said Lucy in a very small voice, looking more than a little frightened. Reepicheep, for his part, didn't look frightened, just very irritated; an expression that would have been much easier to look at on a mouse or squirrel or any other of his more charming forms as opposed to that hedgehog. A hedgehog scowling, it turns out, is a rather ugly sight.

Mr. Pevensie gave her a reassuring half-smile. "Of course not, Lucy, Peter will be going with you."

She felt a little better. Reepicheep, a little more relaxed himself, shape-shifted back into a tall brown mouse with a golden ear-band and red feather. It is noteworthy, though, that when his sword appeared, he clung to it very tightly, perhaps still a little anxious.

"But Mum, _why_ do we have to go?" Lucy didn't fully understand. Of course they had done their best to explain that it was the safest thing for her, but she was starting to feel a little tired of hearing that word. 'Safe'. She'd been hearing that since she was old enough to comprehend full thoughts-and she was starting to hate it, maybe just a little bit. What was so important about her that they needed to shield her from _everything_? Just because she had a dæmon?

"Because, the bombings are getting more frequent and it's making London a very unsafe place for children." said Mr. Pevensie, taking a sip of something Mrs. Pevensie had just poured into his wineglass.

"Why do they want to blow us up, anyway?" Lucy wanted to know. "What did we ever do to them?"

"They want to win the war, Lu." Peter told her.

"Let me catch one of them and they'll see how many bombs they can drop before I run him through." Reepicheep retorted, shape-shifting again, this time into a beaver (just slightly smaller than the hedgehog shape had been) wearing armour.

"Hush, Reep." Lucy said, squirming uncomfortably in her chair.

He sighed and became a mouse again.

"Her dæmon hasn't come anywhere close to settling yet." Mr. Pevensie noted to his wife in a tone Lucy found strangely random and a little awkward.

"She's only eight." Peter pointed out.

Their parents sighed. "True."

"We're turning nine soon." Reepicheep piped up.

Lucy smiled and stroked her dæmon's soft brown fur lovingly.

"Mum? Dad?" Peter's face paled as he watched his little sister gently caressing her dæmon. "How do I explain Reepicheep to Lord Digory?"

Lord Digory was a wealthy professor who owned a very luxurious college and boarding house in the middle of the northern country-side (a rather unusual location for a place of learning, but that is where it was all the same). That was the place where Peter and Lucy were being sent away to.

Mrs. Pevensie got a distant look in her eyes. "I wouldn't worry about him, Peter."

"Uncle Kirke wont bring her to any harm." Mr. Pevensie added.

Peter's brows frowned. "Uncle?"

Mr. Pevensie nodded.

"Dad, neither you or Mum ever had any siblings." He looked very suspiciously at his parents. "I know what uncles are."

"You know what sisters are, too, Peter." Mr. Pevensie said warningly, his harsh words confusing Lucy and Reepicheep.

Peter hung his head and looked down at his plate as if suddenly fascinated by his green vegetables. "I'm sorry."

"As it happens," His mother said, her tone a little less curt than her husband's, "he actually _is_ your uncle-your great uncle, a few times removed."

"What was he removed from?" Reepicheep asked curiously. "Was it a battle?"

"I don't think that's quite what she meant, Reepicheep." Peter chuckled.

The mouse looked disappointed. "Oh."

"Lord Digory is a very, very distant cousin of mine, but his closest real link to our family was always his marriage to your Great Aunt Polly on your father's side." Helen went on to explain. "He's been a widower for some years now, though."

"Still, am I to tell Lord Digory that Reepicheep is Lucy's pet?" Peter wanted to know.

"You wont need to tell him anything at all, and of course you know what to say to everyone else." Mr. Pevensie answered simply.

He looked tired, Peter realized, wondering if he even saw tears swimming in the corners of his father's eyes, feeling more than a little guilty for very nearly thinking him unkind a moment ago. After all, an unkind man wouldn't have taken a certain baby of no blood relation to himself into his home about eight years or so ago. He must have been anxious about his daughter leaving, too.

And why shouldn't he be? After all, Lucy wasn't like the other children who where being sent away-they didn't have secret like hers. At least this Lord Digory was made out to seem a good-natured person. Peter could only hope that really was the case.

Four days later, they all stood together as a family, at the railway platform, for what would be the last time in a long while. Lucy was trying not to cry as her mother inquired as to whether or not she was warm enough or as her father slipped her a little toy dog he thought might comfort her on the journey. Reepicheep, hidden in the leather pouch strapped to his human, shifted into the form of a small hamster and curled himself up in a ball so as to feel warm and protected.

Peter stood as still and stiff as a soldier; a fact which his mother as she hugged him goodbye and planted a farewell kiss on his cheek, was all too aware of. Shuddering to herself, she silently thanked god that her son was only fourteen, too young to be a real soldier.

"Alright," Their father whispered sadly. "off you go."

Lucy didn't realize it until much later, but it was at that moment that Peter discovered another reason for his father's strained voice and distant expressions on that day. He caught his father's eyes straying over towards some soldiers in uniforms a little ways off.

So, Peter thought to himself, dad means to enlist, I see now, of course it wouldn't do to tell Lucy, he didn't even tell _me_.

And, having yet another secret he had to keep from his beloved little sister as he led her away from the only parents she-they-had ever known, towards the train, he felt more alone than he ever had felt in his whole life.

After she had settled in, Lucy actually enjoyed the railway journey. She even let Reepicheep out of his pouch a couple of times when no one was looking so he could peer out the window and see all the lovely green scenery they were passing for himself.

Whenever she looked over at Peter, he always seemed to have this distressed expression on his face which he would immediately force into the shape of a smile when he noticed her staring. Of course she knew he was faking, and so did Reepicheep, but they didn't know what to say, so they said nothing at all.

He probably just misses mum and dad, Lucy thought-carefully nudging a reluctant dæmon back into the pouch, _I_ miss them.

In an attempt to comfort her brother, she leaned her head on his shoulder and wrapped both her arms around one of his for the rest of the trip; she fell asleep a few minutes later.

Peter didn't brother trying to wake her up until the train came to its final stop, _their_ stop. Ignoring the light spot of drool that had landed from Lucy's slightly open mouth onto his coat sleeve, he shook her awake. "Lucy, come on, it's time to get off the train."

Lucy woke up a bit dazed and confused as though she had forgotten where she was and had expected to find herself in her bedroom back at home. Then she remembered, clinging to Peter's hand more tightly than ever.

The Lord Digory did not come himself to meet them at the country station's out-post where the train had stopped; rather, he sent a car for them, driven by one of the stern-looking housekeepers he had in his employment.

Lucy didn't much like the look of this woman and hoped Reepicheep would use common sense, keeping himself hidden from her sharp, squinted eyes. It wasn't that the woman seemed bad or at all wicked, just that she appeared to be the sort of person it is hard to please or get along with. Reepicheep must have still been asleep though, he didn't stir and the pouch didn't rustle.

The whole ride was spent in silence, both children making no movement except to squeeze hands every now and again. Lucy almost wished she could fall asleep until the ride was over and rest just as soundly as she had on the train, but sleep didn't come just because she wanted it. Oddly enough, she found herself a little envious of Reepicheep-she could hear some light snoring coming from the pouch. It was a very strange feeling, she thought to herself, being jealous of one's own dæmon like that.

The college was large, made of silver-and-white pillars and dark red bricks lined with thick patches and swirls of twinkling green ivy. In the front, by the iron fence, there stood two brass statues of, rather elegant in an ugly sort of way, boar hounds. Somewhere within the hundreds of green acres the building and its companion buildings rested on, a water fountain tinkled merrily (Peter knew this because he could hear it in the distance).

"It looks just like a castle." Lucy whispered to her brother in an awestruck voice. Reepicheep's nose stuck out of the pouch and his whiskers twitched in excited anticipation. "Is it a castle, Peter?"

Peter chuckled, "I don't think so, Lu. It is very nice, though, isn't it?"

"Yes," Lucy nodded in agreement as they followed the housekeeper who was now wearing a grim look on her face, carrying their suitcases with much more vigor than they would have expected in such a small-framed woman.

The front door had the image of a bright gold-and-red Lion engraved on it. Beautiful as it was, it seemed kind of out of place, clashing with the silver and white theme, just barely matching the bricks. Lucy liked this Lion at once, however, deciding quickly that it was her favorite thing about the place so far.

Ever so slowly, she reached up and traced her fingers along the pattern; she always swore afterwards that it felt warm like something alive-instead of cold and hard as metal should feel.

Nervous that the housekeeper would scold Lucy for touching the pretty design, Peter reached out and snatched her hand. The gesture was a bit more rough than he intended it to be, so he reminded himself to apologize later.

They wandered along several carpeted well-lit passageways until they finally came to a tall, stately-looking door which they were told led to Lord Digory's study.

"He said he wanted to see you." a maid informed them when Peter asked why they couldn't first go up to their rooms and settle in for a bit, thinking how exhausted little Lucy was from the trip.

He might have just come down to meet us himself, then, Peter thought grumpily as he knocked on the door and walked himself and Lucy inside. She was clinging tightly to Reepicheep's pouch; a well-meaning maid had tried to take it from her at the door, but thanks to Lucy's persistence-and an unexpected angry glance from the housekeeper (who's name was Mrs. Macready, by the way)-it had remained safely in her possession.

The gray, stone-wall study was filled with fine furniture and bookshelves that lined every wall. The professor himself-Lord Digory-was sitting in a cherry-wood chair behind a sturdy-looking oak desk. He was a very old man, with gray-white hairs that looked silver in some lightings which grew all over the top of his head like a salt-and-pepper mob and on his face in a groomed, but also somewhat uneven, beard. His lips which seemed nice in themselves, were pulled all out of shape by the pipe he was smoking, making him look rather funny. To Lucy, he looked almost scary and she took a step closer to Peter.

Lord Digory smiled and put down his pipe when he noticed them. An excited squawk came from behind the desk-Lucy and Peter looked for the source of the sound, discovering a pretty, brown robin with a perfectly crimson chest and the brightest eyes imaginable sitting on one of the nearby arms of the room's many chairs.

The robin few closer to Lucy and came lower so that she was almost in line with the leather pouch, uttering a soft but urgent, "psst!"

When Lord Digory's eyes left her and turned to Peter with a mixture of warm hospitality, but a subtle bit of irritation as well, Reepicheep stuck his nose out of the pouch and whispered, "Lucy, did that bird just 'psst' us?"

"You're Helen's boy, right?" Lord Digory asked Peter as though there was any chance of him being someone else.

"Um, yes?" Peter blurted out, a little confused by the uncertainty in the professor's voice, especially considering that they were supposedly relatives.

He nodded and shook his hand. "Pleased to meet you, I trust you will find everything here to your liking, then, eh?"

"I'm sure I will." said Peter, not sure how else to respond.

"I suppose you must be tired, it was a long way up here, you may leave now and I shall talk with the girl-child alone." Lord Digory informed him not unkindly-but in a very 'no nonsense' manner, letting go of his hand.

"She's tired, too, sir." Peter tried but it was no use.

"I'm sure she is, but I must speak with her alone for a few moments and then I will personally escort Miss Pevensie to her room." Lord Digory said, giving them both warm smiles. "You haven't any reason to be worried, she is in good hands here-you both are."

Peter nodded but he didn't turn to leave the study right away.

"You are dismissed." Lord Digory cleared his throat.

"May I wait outside the door until you are done? It's just that Lucy-"

"If you must!" Sighed Lord Digory, clearly getting exasperated with him by this point. "But you will be so kind as to close the door all the way, you seen like a good lad, I wouldn't think you capable of the very naughty action of eavesdropping." his eye twitched in what might have been a kind of wink, though they weren't sure.

Nothing else for it, Peter headed for the door. Lowering himself slightly on his way so that he might briefly whisper something to Lucy before leaving he murmured, "If you need me, scream and I'll come alright?" he didn't want to frighten her, but he was feeling a little on-edge himself. Still he added, "Everything will be fine." and gave her shoulders one last quick squeeze.

Once he was gone and the door was tightly shut, Lord Digory took a step closer to Lucy and said, "Child, where is your dæmon? I believe he cannot go far from you."

Lucy felt her blood run cold and very nearly screamed for Peter right then and there.

"I see, you're scared," Lord Digory's smile widened. "you need not fear me, Lucy, I am a friend...perhaps not such a good one as your Reepicheep."

"How did you know my dæmon's name?" Gasped Lucy in a low, startled whisper.

"I am a friend." He repeated gently. "Look, I'll prove it."

"I am your friend, too." The robin spoke as she landed on Lord Digory's shoulder.

"Who are you?" Lucy said, her voice still little more than a whisper.

"I'm Lord Digory's dæmon." the robin answered.

Reepicheep came all the way out of the pouch and sniffed at the robin in a curious, friendly manner. "A pleasure to meet you, I'm sure."

Lucy's own face went from horrified, to excited and greatly relieved, to simply flushed with delight. Her cheeks went pink and a genuine smile curved on her lips; she had never before met anyone else who had a dæmon. How eagerly she waited for him to explain! But he did not even attempt to do so, instead, once the introductions between the two dæmons were over, he nodded somewhat gravely and turned to take something wrapped in pale, white silk out of a locked draw in his desk.

"It looks like a present, Reepicheep." Lucy breathed softly to her dæmon. "I think he's going to give us something."

Indeed, the old man, who's eyes were now fairly glittering, almost giddy with expectation, reached over and handed the object to her. It felt heavier than she had thought it would and she had to take care not to let it slip through her fingers and fall to the floor.

"What is it?" Reepicheep shifted into the shape of a tan-coloured weasel so that he could slink himself over Lucy's shoulders and peer down at the silken wrapped object, too.

Fumbling with the silk, Lucy finally managed to get through to the object itself; surprised by what she saw. A rather over-sized pocket watch made of solid silver. It was closed up and its outside was exquisitely beautiful with rich patterns that Lucy thought looked almost like closed rose-buds and leaves from ivy-vines when you turned it a certain way and squinted at it. Right in the silvery center of the carvings was a little moon-coloured gemstone, so striking that it seemed like someone had stolen the moon from the sky and shrunk it down to a size small enough to fit the setting. It caught the light from the three or four lamps in the room and reflected pretty, pale light the same way as the real moon did with the sun. The glow was so stunning, so alive, that for a moment Lucy wondered if it hadn't simply grown on the watch like a bean-plant as opposed to being carefully placed in the setting by somebody.

"It's so pretty," Lucy commented, beaming up at Lord Digory. "what's it for?"

"You'll figure it out soon enough, I believe." Lord Digory replied very mysteriously.

"Is it really for me?" Lucy doubled checked, sensing, young though she was, that something so fancy must be very valuable; perhaps even worth thousands and thousands of pounds. "To keep?"

"For now." said the professor with an agreeable twitch of his chin. "You'll do well to keep it hidden, though. Maybe you could keep it in that pouch of yours."

Lucy carefully slipped the pocket watch into the leather pouch and looked over at Reepicheep apologetically. He didn't mind, there was no way he actually _wanted_ to go back in there anyhow.

"Child, take care that no one comes to know of your having that." Lord Digory's eyes never left the pouch now. "You mustn't tell a soul, it's very important, do you understand?"

Lucy understood that the object must have been very precious to Lord Digory, but she didn't fully understand his urgency. She blinked twice, unsure of what to say.

"It could bring you into grave danger if..." His voice trailed off and Lucy got the sense he was frightening himself, that he was catching his voice before it said too much.

Of course, she didn't much like the idea of danger but, "I think I could be brave enough."

"I'm sure you could," The Lord Digory's smile returned and his eyes became warm again. "but knowledge in the hands of the wrong sort of people can lead to ugly affairs."

"I see," said Lucy as Reepicheep's fur colour went from tan to black.

"Don't let anyone see it, then, not even your brother." warned Lord Digory. "Just keep it to yourself."

Much as she hated the idea of keeping anything from Peter, the desperation in the professor's eyes won her little heart over and she promised not to let him see it or even come to know if it.

"You'll play a big part, I think, more than they realize."

Lucy asked him what he meant (and Reepicheep asked the robin, too) but there was no answer given. Whatever it was that they were supposed to do, or wait for, or be aware of, they weren't told.


	3. Edmund and Ella

As soon as she and Reepicheep were alone in the bedroom that was to be hers as long as she stayed at Lord Digory's college and boarding house, Lucy reached into the leather pouch and pulled out the pocket watch. It seemed even prettier now, if that was possible.

"What do you think it does, Reep?" Lucy wondered aloud.

"Tells time, probably." Reepicheep guessed, shifting into a gray squirrel and waddling over from the pillow he'd been resting on, towards the edge, closer to Lucy who was sitting on the throw rug on the floor, fiddling with the long silver chain that extended off of the pocket watch.

"Well, ordinary clocks aren't dangerous." Lucy pointed out.

"That's true." Reepicheep had to agree with that.

"I wonder how it opens." she ran her fingers along the smooth silver circle until she found the clasp that held it shut. "Oh!"

"He seemed nice, the Lord Professor and his dæmon, don't you think?" Reepicheep said, very pleased to have finally meet another creature like himself, even if they didn't look alike-dæmons rarely did.

"Yes, of course." Lucy said absent-mindedly, staring intently at the now-open pocket watch.

It had a funny-looking inside, she decided, not at all how she would have expected it to look, but then, again, nothing in this place was turning out how she expected. If someone had told her a day or so ago that she would be away from home, in a strange college, possess a silver pocket watch she wasn't allowed to show to her brother, and have met another person with a dæmon, she would have thought they were insane.

Where numbers should have been, there were peculiar symbols rather like letters from another alphabet, maybe Norwegian; something northern, anyhow. At the bottom, where the six should have been, was an O with a slash through it, and at the top, where the 12 ought to be, was the letter, Æ. It was all in script and very pretty, but that didn't change how puzzling the letters were. What did they mean, anyway? There wasn't enough for a full language, or at least, there didn't seem to be. Maybe they stood for something?

"You're going to give yourself a headache." Reepicheep warned his human.

Lucy ignored his comment and squinted harder.

"You know that if you make yourself ill, I get sick, too." Reepicheep reminded her.

"Sorry, Reep, it's just-"

Her sentence was cut short by a knock at the door. "Lucy?"

"It's Peter!" Reepicheep quickly snatched up the pocket watch from Lucy's out-stretched hands and hid it under her pillow where her brother wouldn't be able to see it.

"Come in," said Lucy when Reepicheep crawled back out in his small, golden-eyed, ebony black mouse form.

The door creaked open and Peter walked in carrying a tray of food. "Lord Digory had our supper brought up to my room."

He waited to see if Lucy would tell him anything about what the professor had said to her. When she'd come out of his study earlier, she had been very quiet, whispering only that Lord Digory had a dæmon, nothing more. Of course, that alone would have been plenty exciting for a girl who'd been the only one of her kind all eight years of her life, but still, he got the feeling she was keeping something from him. Or else, he told himself, I'm just being overly sensitive and she's just very tired.

Lucy started munching on a piece of white bread and slurping up a china bowl of pea-soup. "Did you eat already?"

"I'm not feeling very hungry." Peter said. Truthfully, all he wanted was to get some sleep, but he needed to be sure Lucy was alright first, that she was really and truly safe here.

"Oh, but you should-"

"Don't worry." Peter smiled faintly at her, his voice faltering-even stammering-a little. "Look, my room is just four doors down, I-I-I'll hear you...if you need me at all..."

"Thanks, Peter." she put down what was left of her bread and squeezed his hand.

"Goodnight," he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Lucy said softly. "Goodnight."

As was always his fashion of behavior around Lucy, Peter started to steal out of the room softly, as though he was trying not to wake a sleeping infant. "Remember to brush your teeth before you turn out the lights and go to sleep, okay?"

"I will." she promised.

"Reepicheep, stay out of trouble." Peter said warningly, an eyebrow half-raised in the dæmon's direction. "And make sure she puts on a warm enough dressing-gown if she has to get up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night."

"I will." he promised.

"You'll be alright?"

The girl and her dæmon nodded.

The next morning, when Lucy woke up and started looking for her clothes to get dressed, she couldn't find one of her shoes. Its match was on her left foot, a russet-like brown to match the charming tea-dress she was wearing and to clash prettily with her white stockings. She looked much neater than usual, wanting to put her brother's mind at ease. Lucy had thought perhaps that if he saw her making an effort to take care of herself on her own more, maybe he'd lose a bit of that weary expression on his face.

Not that such effort was easy to put forth, seeing as all she really wanted to do was sit up in her night clothes and puzzle over the pocket watch some more while talking to Reepicheep. She had vowed to have herself ready for breakfast the second she her heard Peter's knock at the door, but how could she when one shoe was no where to be found?

"Where did you put it?" Reepicheep crawled out from under the bed in the form of a cream-coloured ermine with lovely, sparkling chocolate brown eyes.

"I didn't put it anywhere." Lucy sighed, pouting and even stamping her stocking foot out of deep annoyance. "The maids put everything away. That's the worst of having servants, Reep, you never know where anything is without having to ask."

"Did you check the wardrobe?" Reepicheep suggested, standing up on his hind legs looking very adorable indeed, though Lucy knew better than to tell him so.

It was the first time Lucy had even noticed there _was_ a wardrobe, now that she came to think of it, having been so preoccupied and sleepy the night before. It was such a lovely old wardrobe, too-the nicest one she'd ever seen, made of apple-wood and carved with pictures of trees and armoured bears and a great Lion and things of that nature.

"Lucy," Reepicheep gasped, shifting his shape back into its ordinary 'brown mouse with a golden feathered band' form. "look at the letter carved into the base of the tree trunk on the door!"

Leaning in to examine the beautiful engraving more carefully, Lucy noticed what had caught her dæmon's attention: there was an O with a slash through it just like the one in the pocket watch.

"What do you think it means?" she mused.

"Don't know." Reepicheep shrugged as he scooted over to look under the wardrobe, coming out again nudging a familiar object. "I found your shoe."

Lucy slipped the shoe on and slowly reached up her hand to open the wardrobe door.

"Maybe it's locked." Reepicheep thought aloud.

"I don't think so." said Lucy. "Not if it's in my room, for me to use."

"Well, probably not." Reepicheep changed his mind and agreed with her.

The door opened with an almost musical-sounding creak; four moth balls fell out. Reepicheep sneezed, he didn't like the smell of those little, crunchy white things. Lucy's nose wrinkled but she didn't mind it so much as her dæmon did; she took a step into the wardrobe as though it were a doorway into another room.

"Lucy!" Reepicheep protested. "Why are you-"

"Look, Reep!" Lucy sighed dreamily. "Fur! lots and lots of lovely fur coats all hung up in here!"

The little mouse rolled his eyes; he never could understand his lady's fascination with fur. After all, he himself was covered in it in most of his forms and didn't see anything so very special about it.

Sighing happily again, Lucy rubbed her face against the two closest coats and then started venturing further in, leaning heavily against all of the delightfully soft fur. Reepicheep hopped in after her and followed, having no choice-dæmons can't be long distances from their humans.

"Lucy, come on, Peter will be calling us for breakfast soon." Reepicheep reminded her, not being very keen on fooling around in the wardrobe.

"Reep, I say, that's not a coat," Lucy noticed something at the wardrobe's back. "what is it?"

He squinted and looked for the source of her confusion. It sort of look like a long, very wide, very glossy, gauzy black scarf or curtain had been hung up on the hooks in the back as a sort of decoration. Why someone would have wanted a decoration behind all of those fur coats where nobody could see it, Reepicheep and Lucy couldn't guess.

Ever so carefully, as if she was afraid of tearing it, Lucy started to lift up the gauze so that she could see what was behind it. Dim, yellow light drifted in where the back should have been along with a blast of chilly air.

"What on earth?" Reepicheep stated, wandering forward and discovering what felt-and looked-like snow under him.

"It's a forest!" Lucy realized, bending down to scoop up Reepicheep and carry him in her arms so she could walk faster and get to see things more quickly.

"Where's the yellow light coming from? It looks just like the light from any lamppost back home in London."

"It sort of _is_." Lucy told him, noticing a tall iron pillar with a lantern set on the top a few feet in front of them. It burned brightly and did indeed look very much like any of the ones in London might except for being a little older fashioned.

Normally, Reepicheep was not a very cuddly dæmon, only putting up with displays of affection when he could tell his human was yearning for them, but as he was feeling cold and did not want to shiver, lest it should look like fear, he curled himself as deeply into the nooks of Lucy's arms as possible.

They were still looking up in awe at the lamppost, wondering what it was doing there in the middle of a forest (and of course what the middle of a forest was doing behind the curtain in their wardrobe back at Lord Digory's college), when a stunning creature flew above their heads.

It was a snowy-white, moon-faced owl with huge, glowing orange-gold eyes and a wise little look about her as she swooped down a little lower.

"Lucy, it's not a real bird." Reepicheep whispered to her. "She's like Lord Digory's robin."

"You mean the robin has shape-shifted?"

"No, Lucy, of course not, the robin's human is grown up, she's settled. So is this one, actually, but it's not the Lord Professor's dæmon, she belongs to someone else entirely."

"But who else has one, Reep?" the words were just scarcely out of her mouth when a boy's face peered out from behind a tree.

It was a tallish boy of about nine or ten with dark hair and brown eyes. The owl flew over and landed on his now out-stretched arm as he walked closer to where Lucy was standing.

"Hullo," said Lucy, flushing with excitement and a little bit of nervousness at meeting another child, someone who couldn't be much older than she herself was, with a dæmon.

What was pretty surprising when Lucy realized it, was that Reepicheep had said something about this dæmon being settled-something he could just sense and know without question. Dæmons didn't usually pick a permanent form until puberty; but maybe, she thought, this boy's dæmon made up its mind earlier than most.

"Who are you?" the boy asked, not rudely but in a curt tone all the same.

"I'm Lucy Pevensie," Lucy told him.

He waited as if expecting more.

"Oh, right!" Lucy wasn't used to introducing Reepicheep to people. "This is Reepicheep." She placed him on the ground because he had shifted into a grayish brown tom cat and was squirming in her arms. "Reep."

"I'm Edmund," the boy told her, seeming a little friendlier now. "Edmund Coulter." Motioning up at his dæmon, he added, "This is Eleanor Glimfeather." She flew off of his shoulder and landed next to Reepicheep, fixing her steady eyes on him as if she knew all of his secrets within one glance. "Ella."

"Pleased to meet you, Edmund Coulter." Lucy replied very politely, stretching out her hand.

He smiled and extended his own hand so that she could shake it. "Pleased to meet you, too, Lucy Pevensie."

She saw now that he was wearing soft, gray, wool mittens on his hands-they felt warm against her own bare fingers-with the contour of an owl embroidered on the back of them.

An owl, she mused in her mind, just like his dæmon.

Owls were very pretty creatures, but they had a different sort of prettiest than most other pretty birds did, a sort of wisdom about them. Wisdom, being wise, having justice, loving justice. A strange, very regal-sounding title came to her mind as she looked at the boy standing in front of her, forgetting for a moment to let his hand go: The Just.

 _Edmund the Just_ , she thought to herself, I rather like the sound of that.


	4. Talk and Tea

"So, Lucy," Edmund said, looking at her and Reepicheep with his left eyebrow raised. "where are you from?"

"Oh, from London." Lucy blurted out. "Except, Reep and I weren't there when we came here, we were at the college."

Reepicheep, still in his tom cat form, gently scratched the side of one of Lucy's legs as if silently asking whether or not they should be so readily answering a stranger's questions when they didn't know much about him except for his name and that of his dæmon. Ella flew herself up to Edmund's right shoulder and perched there looking straight and still but also graceful somehow in spite of herself.

"There aren't any colleges around here." Edmund stated, squinting at her a little suspiciously. "Do you mean Jordan College?"

"That's not the name of the Lord Professor's place." Reepicheep said, rubbing up against the side of his mistress's leg in a protective fashion.

"Well it's the only college I know about, and it's an awfully long way from here, as well." Edmund told her, looking both ways while Ella turned her head in all different directions as if checking to see if the coast was clear. "I have a half-sister about your age there, her name's Lyra Belacqua."

The owl clanked her beak and let out a distressed sound. "Don't tell her _that_ , Edmund!"

"And why not?" Edmund asked his dæmon pointedly. "As if she was going to be able to tell anyone! This girl's lucky she hasn't already frozen standing out in the cold dressed like _that_!"

Reepicheep, taking offence for his human, shape-shifted back into his most common form and took out his sword. "And what, pray tell, is the matter with how she chooses to dress?"

"She'll freeze her whole behind off." Edmund stated simply, both as if he cared and didn't care at the same time.

"Don't talk like that, Ed." snapped Ella, digging one of her claws sharply into his shoulder as a sort of reprimand. "When mother puts soap in your mouth, I taste it, too!"

"Behind isn't a curse-word." Edmund reminded her.

"Well, next time you'll just say something else."

"No I wont." he insisted.

"Pshaw." the owl looked prim.

"Moody old feather-brain." Edmund muttered under his breath.

Lucy wondered at his readiness to insult his own dæmon. Wasn't that supposed to be a disregard for one's own self? Or was it maybe different here? Did more people here have dæmons they felt comfortable saying sharp things to? She said snappy things to her Reepicheep sometimes when she was in a bad mood, perhaps this was just the same.

"I don't know about any _Jordan_ College," said Lucy, looking up at the lamppost and then back at Edmund again. "but the one I came from has a big wardrobe and I found myself here when I was walking through the fur coats."

Ella clanked her beak again. "Edmund..."

"Do shut up, Ella." he said, keeping his attention on Lucy. "Well, it was nice meeting you, I hope you get back to your college, where ever that is."

"You're leaving?" Lucy blinked at him, clearly surprised.

"You don't expect me to stay out here in the cold all day, do you?" Edmund asked rather snottily, rubbing his mittens together. "I was just on my way to have tea over a friend's house."

"Edmund Coulter!" Ella cawed, getting quite at her wit's end with her human. "Don't you dare go off and leave the girl in the middle of no where!"

"I'm not," Edmund yawned, rubbing the tip of his right mitten on the side of his nose. "she'll just go back to where ever she came from."

"You know there isn't any place for miles, just Tumnus's old outpost where you're going to have your tea and forget the poor girl here." Ella scolded-it was very much like watching someone argue with their conscience, and as Lucy hadn't gotten to see a great deal of dæmon/human interactions that weren't her own, she enjoyed it as immensely as if it was a play.

Anyway, she knew she didn't have to worry about being stranded out in the cold, she was certain she could find her way back in no time and maybe still be ready when Peter knocked on her door.

"Will you stop hassling me if I agree to take her along for tea?" Edmund huffed finally.

The owl let out a puffy-sounding whistle that made it quite obvious she was only half-patronized over the matter, but she didn't protest any further.

"Lucy Pevensie," Edmund took a step closer to her. "How would you like to come with me and have tea over my friend's home?"

"That's very nice of you," Lucy felt her stomach rumble, wishing she could accept, thinking of how nice a hot meal and some tea would be and how red-and numb-her fingers were getting. "but I really should be getting back...Peter will be looking for me presently."

"Who's Peter?" asked Edmund.

"Oh, he's her elder brother." Reepicheep piped up.

Edmund's forehead crinkled and he turned to look at his dæmon who, in turn, shrugged her white bird-shoulders.

"He'll be looking for me presently." Lucy repeated, somewhat awkwardly, suddenly getting the feeling that Edmund and Ella thought her mentally unwell for some reason or other.

Reaching out and touching the side of her arm lightly, Edmund shook his head. "Come on, there'll be a nice, warm fire and Tumnus always has tea and toast."

"And cakes!" Ella added with a little too much enthusiasm.

Lucy stomach growled again, louder this time. "Maybe I could come...for a little while."

Edmund started off and Lucy quickly gathered that she was supposed to trot along after him; she scooped up Reepicheep and did so.

"Where do you live, Edmund?" she was curious, seeing as he knew a little bit about where she came from now but had told her hardly anything about himself.

"Oh, lots of places." said Edmund hurriedly, a sort of bland look coming onto his face as he spoke about it. "Mother decides where Susan and I will go, and then we do whatever she says."

"Susan?" Lucy looked a little confused. "Who's that?"

"My sister." Edmund told her, walking a little faster now.

"You said your sister's name was Lyra." said Lucy, making her feet move in a more brisk way to keep up with him.

"No, Lyra's my half-sister, Susan's my full sister." Glancing up at Ella and then cuttingly back at Lucy for a moment, he added, "And Lyra doesn't even know she's my half-sister, so you'd be wise to keep that information as much to yourself as possible."

"Why?" Lucy wanted to know. "How come she doesn't know about being related to you like that?"

"Well, it's a long story." Edmund said shortly, putting his hands behind his back as his pace slowed down to more of an easy stroll for a few moments. "At any rate, I only get to see her when mother makes us stay at some place close to Jordan-I sneak off and visit her. We played together a couple of times two years or so ago-she has lots of friends there, I suppose she is well off."

Sensing that Edmund was a little uncomfortable, even saddened, by talking too much about his half-sister, though he didn't seem to mind occasional mentionings, Lucy turned the conversation to his other sister and asked what Susan was like.

"She's older than me, bossy, and vain as a peacock." laughed Edmund, thinking about his beautiful older sister who spent way more time in front of mirrors than was probably good for her. "She has always been sort of boring, but I liked her better before she starting wearing make-up and going to cocktail parties with mother."

"What does your mother do?"

Edmund went a little pale, almost sickly but not quite, almost an embarrassed sort of pale, as though it were too awful to even get red over, you had to turn ghostly. "She..."

"Yes?" Reepicheep waited, curious himself now.

"She helps children to grow up." Lucy thought he sounded rather like he was quoting from some dull lesson plan, his whole tone had changed becoming very automatic and forced-sounding.

"Helps children to grow up?" Lucy echoed. "How does she do that?"

"The place we're going for tea is right over the next bend." Edmund ignored the question, unable to continue making eye-contact with her for the next few moments.

"Your mother and sisters, do they all have dæmons, too?" she felt she had to know at least that much, even if the other stuff would be kept from her.

Edmund looked at her like she was crazy. "What sort of question is that? All people have dæmons."

"Not true!" Lucy retorted. "My brother Peter hasn't got one."

"Liar." Edmund fake-coughed.

"You dare to call my lady a liar?" Reepicheep looked ready to run him through right then and there.

"It's nonsense, there isn't any such thing as a human without a dæmon, except for if-" he caught himself and shook his head. "If your brother didn't have a dæmon, he would be sickly and weak and always asking where his dæmon had gotten off to-that's all he'd be able to say."

"We tell you he hasn't got one-he never had one at all!" Reepicheep scowled, not liking Edmund very much at the moment and wishing that Lucy had never agreed to walk with him.

"Look," Edmund said flatly. "I think I can trust you, you have an honest face, Lucy, I know because I don't see that many of them."

She didn't know what to say to that.

"I'm going to tell you something," Edmund whispered, leaning closer to her ear so that there was no chance of anyone else hearing, if anyone happened to be spying or anything like that. "I've seen what happens when you cut a dæmon away from its human-it's frightful."

"Where on earth could you have seen that?" Reepicheep sounded as though he thought Edmund was telling scary fire-side stories to frighten them.

"I can't tell you, it's not allowed." Edmund shook his head and his eyes grew distant.

They stopped talking now because they had come to a neat-looking log-cabin with a cave-like appearance about it. Snow was piled all around it except at the entrance way where there was a tidy little path, littered only with a few stray flakes from the most recent snow-fall.

"Tumnus lives here."

"Your friend? What's _he_ like?" asked Lucy.

"He's a faun, there aren't too many of his kind left in these parts, so he lives alone."

Lucy thought hard and it took a few moments, but she finally remembered what fauns were-they were the fantasy, goat-legged men that peppered many a familiar fairy story. It had never occurred to Lucy to disbelieve Edmund the way he had seemed to disbelieve her, and she was thrilled at the mere thought of meeting her first faun.

"A faun?" Reepicheep repeated, lacking a little of his human's excitement.

"Yes," said Edmund in a tone that suggested such a thing was, though a little rare, fairly common-place to an extent.

"A _faun_ , Reep." Lucy whispered to her dæmon.

"Watch him carefully," Reepicheep pointed his nose in Edmund's direction as he whispered to back to her. "I'm not sure I trust him."

"I think I do, though, Reep." Lucy's voice was small and a little uncertain, for she wasn't really sure _why_ she felt she could trust him, but she did all the same.

After rapping smartly on the door four times in an exact rhythm that seemed, to Reepicheep, almost like a code or something, Edmund stepped back and waited. A few moments later, a creature with light reddish skin, curly hair from which stuck out two golden-capped horns, and goat legs covered in glossy, dark brown fur right down to the tips of his neat-looking cloven hooves.

"Greetings, Tumnus." said Ella, her beak turning up in what Lucy thought might be an owl's version of a smile. "Or rather, my greetings and not those of a certain sullen boy of mine."

"Ella!" Edmund chuckled, pretend-pouting at his dæmon.

"Welcome, Edmund and Ella," Tumnus said. Noticing Lucy, he added, "What's this? You haven't stolen one of your mother's experimental subjects have you?"

Edmund was horrified at the mere thought of Lucy, the friendly little soul at his side, becoming one of _those_. Of course it wouldn't happen, no one important was ever in that sort of situation, and Edmund was fairly sure Lucy wasn't a servant's child or a member of a Gyptian clan. And besides, whether or not she was completely sane, she had mentioned a brother-now that was someone who would come looking for her if anything...no, it wouldn't. Well at the very least, Edmund himself could protect her from any such disasters.

"She is a sort of friend of mine, I guess, Tumnus." Edmund replied. "She's not from Bolvangar, she claims to be from a college of sorts."

"Do come in," Tumnus shook Lucy's hand and listened while she introduced herself and Reepicheep. "By the way, Edmund, how is everything in the district of Harfang?"

Edmund shrugged apathetically. "Bleak, as always."

Tumnus, noticing that Lucy was shivering, gathered up some warm blue plaid blankets and gently placed them over her shoulders. "There, that should be an improvement."

"Thank you." Lucy said gratefully, not having realized until the moment when she was warmed up and they stopped, that her teeth had been chattering.

"You're welcome." Tumnus said graciously. To Edmund he went on, "I know you don't like it this far north all that much, but sometimes you simply have to do what other people think is best."

Edmund looked borderline angry now. "Oh, you're going to get on me about it, too, then? As if I haven't done everything I've been told all my life!" he whacked his arm against the side of the wall.

"Edmund..." his dæmon said in a soothing tone, cooing gently in her human's ear. "...Please...look...it's alright..."

Putting his hand to his forehead before sliding it up to gently pat Ella's feathers, Edmund apologized to Tumnus. "I've just been irritable lately."

"Well, then, tea?" Tumnus took out a tea tray lined with what looked like fake-silver and spread out all the promised treats and poured three cups of steaming hot tea for himself and the children. "Best while hot-and I have a little something extra today." the faun lifted the lid on the only silver dish that appeared to be made of actual silver, revealing a large helping of Turkish Delight.

Edmund looked appeased and thanked his host. "Here, Lucy, you try some." he took out a piece and held it up to her lips for her to take a bite of. "Tumnus always gets the best kind imported whenever he can."

Lucy had to admit it was the best Turkish Delight she'd ever tasted; buttery, with just the right amount of creamy powder and sweet sugar covering the top of the jelly-like insides which were made of the most heavenly sort of preserves. She had never really liked Turkish Delight much before now, but this kind was splendid and she felt warmer from Edmund's sharing it with her even than she did from the plaid blankets.

"So, where's your dæmon?" Reepicheep dared to ask the faun after his human had had a good tuck-in of food and drink.

"Who ever heard of a faun having a dæmon?" Edmund asked incredulously, cutting the last piece of Turkish Delight in half to share with Lucy. " _People_ have dæmons."

"Tumnus is a person." said Lucy in a mouse-like tone, feeling a little silly, her mouth sticky from sugar and her upper lip stained with milk.

"He means a human person, dear." Ella corrected, flying over to a perch by Tumnus's bookshelves-which were built into the walls on one side of his house.

"Oh." Lucy didn't say anything else for a while until she realized how long she must have been sitting with Edmund and Tumnus, amusing herself with them, eating with them, just barely remembering her brother in the back of her mind. "This was a most lovely tea, and I do hate to leave so soon, but I really must go."

Looking way too astonished for Lucy's liking, Edmund and Tumnus put down their forks and glanced over at her with their eyebrows sunken and their foreheads crinkled.

Reepicheep didn't like the look-or the feeling-of this; he wondered if he ought not to take out his sword right away and advise Lucy to make a dash for the door, saving the very last moment to scoop him up and take him with her. They didn't look malicious, though, not the faun nor the boy, just very confused, very puzzled.


	5. Unbelievable

"Go?" Ella fluttered her wings and flew over to Lucy, landing on the back of the chair she was seated on. "Go where?"

"Back to the college, of course, my brother will be looking for me, I mentioned that before."

Edmund stood up, brushing a spot of sugar off of his doublet. "There isn't any place near where we found you, Lucy."

"But there is!" Lucy exclaimed before realizing that perhaps the back of a strange wardrobe did not qualify as a _place,_ per say. "Or at least, the way I came here is there."

Edmund leaned close to Tumnus and whispered, "Do you think she's batty?"

"I couldn't say," the faun whisper-replied. "She says some very odd things but she doesn't _sound_ like a crazy person when she says them."

Though it hardly seemed possible, Edmund made his voice even lower now. "Do you think it's worth a try, going back there and looking for her way home?"

"Well it's that or risk taking her through Harfang back to Bolvangar with you, Edmund." Tumnus pointed out, with a shrug of his bare shoulders. "We can't leave her alone in the cold and, while I like children just fine as visitors, I'm not a nursemaid, you can't expect me to take care of her."

For the next few moments, Lucy felt strangely nervous, very much like a criminal on trial, waiting to see what the whispering persons in front of her would decide on. Would they let her go back to the college, Lord Digory, and Peter? Or would they, thinking they were doing the best thing for her, take her off to this Bolvangar place? She didn't like the sound if it, little as she knew about it. Somehow it just seemed like a terrible place; and even if it wasn't, Peter would be worried sick if he came into her room to find the wardrobe door open and no other signs of his little sister's former presence there. It was a most frightful thought! For a moment, the thought of taking off and running back there by herself seemed like a good idea, but then it occurred to her that she wasn't certain of the way, having been too busy talking to Edmund on the walk over to pay close enough attention.

"Let's do this," Edmund decided, nodding at Lucy in a very 'don't worry' sort of fashion. "Tumnus can take you back there to look for your way home, if you can't find it, you can come back here-"

Tumnus looked nervous-he didn't have much faith in his ability to look after a child, especially a delicate female child, for extended amounts of time trying to play father with it. A friend, he could have easily been, a father, well that was too nerve-racking for his tastes.

"-for a short while." he finished his sentence and Tumnus's expression relaxed a little. "Then when you have a chance, if no one comes for her, you can bring her down to Bolvangar."

"But _Edmund_!" Ella's already huge eyes (all owls have big eyes as a general rule) widened into impossibly large spheres of glowing orange. "What if-"

Edmund understood his dæmon's fear even if Lucy and Reepicheep did not, he knew well some of the things that had-in the past-become of children who had seemed homeless, lost, or else otherwise unwanted for this or that reason. "Be sure, Tumnus, that you mention she is a friend of mind and ask that she be left either with my sister, my mother, or myself personally."

Tumnus nodded, making a mental note of all this. "I will, if it comes to that, but what do I say if they tell me that none of you Coulters are available?"

"I doubt it will come to that, mother does not intend for us to leave the Harfang district until the end of the year." Edmund reassured him. "But if something does come up, just ask for Trumpkin-he will see to contacting me where ever I happen to be at the time."

Lucy breathed a sigh of deep relief; of course everything would be fine now. The back of the wardrobe and the gauzy veil would be waiting, and she would be back at the college in no time. If only she could think of something to reassure her brother who must have at least started to worry by now.

Well, thought Lucy to herself rather cheerfully, surely when I tell him all that's happened to me, he'll understand, maybe he will even come and explore this place with me after breakfast-oh, I could tell the Lord Digory and he might even pack us sandwiches or something; Harfang and Bolvangar don't sound at all like anywhere I'd want to visit on my own, but if Peter were with me...and there _must_ be more places than just those two here, how vast it all looks-the snowy tundra might go on for miles and miles!

In spite of the fact that her Reepicheep did not look at all peaceful, Lucy herself was quite giddy with breathless excitement and joy as she walked along side the faun who carried an umbrella over the both of them. She turned around and waved good-bye to Edmund and Ella, calling over her shoulder that it had been such fun meeting them, and then turned back to the faun, prattling on happily about how much she liked his house and how nice tea had been.

Tumnus didn't say a great deal, but he was a friendly soul, telling her a little bit about his family, his life, his likes and dislikes, here and there whenever she stopped her half of the conversation for a moment. Soon, they had reached the lamppost and Lucy tried to assure Tumnus that she could find her way back from there.

Hesitant to leave her, the faun shook his head and insisted on coming along a little ways further with her to ensure her safe return.

Although Lucy thought it very kind of him, she was a little afraid of what Peter might think if he saw the goaty little creature standing in the middle of her bedroom when he entered-perhaps pale with sheer worry. Surely it would give him a bit of an unnecessary shock. It might be better, she thought, if she had a chance to tell him all about Tumnus first, and then they could meet and become friends and the three of them (four if you counted Edmund, six if you counted Ella and Reep) could have all sorts of lovely times together. Still, there was no dissuading Tumnus, so she had to consent to letting him follow her at least up to the thin black curtain.

As she had fully expected, the back of the wardrobe and the curtain were right there waiting; there was even a little tip of it that had curled up, and so Lucy could see the college light which seemed a little different from the light here in this new place, peeking through in a thin slit.

Lucy shook the faun's hand. "Farewell, Mr. Tumnus, it was a pleasure visiting with you."

And Tumnus, who was starting to like sweet little Lucy quite a bit by this point, said farewell back and reminded her that she was always welcome in his home, and to feel free, if it was her wish, to bring her brother along with her when she came.

"I like the faun," Reepicheep told Lucy as they pushed their way back through the fur coats. "I think he's a good sort."

"Edmund was nice, too, Reep." Lucy defended him. "Besides, you can't say Ella wasn't as lady-like as any good, respectable dæmon ought to be!"

"Well, she was a good dæmon, certainly." Reepicheep had to admit as he shifted into the form of a little black-footed ferret and trotted along at Lucy's heels. "But there did seem to be something off about her human all the same-I couldn't put my paw on it."

"Oh, I think it's just because of us not being used to meeting people with dæmons; Lord Digory made us both nervous at first, remember?"

"Yes, but that was _before_ we knew about his robin being a dæmon." Reepicheep pointed out.

"You're too worried about being 'honourable' all the time, you know." Lucy sighed, clicking her tongue. "You can never let us have fun with anybody without studying them to death first."

They might have started to argue a bit if they hadn't found themselves at the very last row of coats before the college started and that other world beyond the gauzy curtain-thing seemed to all but fade away. Both were more concerned with getting back to Peter and telling him all about their little morning adventure than they were with bickering back and forth.

Much to their great surprise, it was the very moment when they stood there in the room, almost panting a little, when they heard Peter's knock at the door. "Lucy, time for breakfast."

"What?" Reepicheep blinked up at his human in deep confusion. "Did he sleep in very late?"

"He must have, or else something happened to keep him from coming hours ago when he was supposed to." Lucy answered, thinking that there was no other explanation.

"How sure I was that you were going to get us both spanked." Reepicheep muttered under his breath in an awe-struck tone. "And here he is, knocking as if it really were no later than-"

"Oh, Reep!" Lucy giggled, unable to hold back. "You know perfectly well Peter never spanks me-he's never spanked anyone."

"I thought he would make an exception." This time, she realized her dæmon was joking and laughed even harder.

Peter knocked on the door again. "Lu? You up? I thought I heard laughter."

"He ought to have been looking for us, wondering where we were!" Reepicheep seemed unable to get over that notion.

Feeling sort of dazed, almost as if she had just woken up from a deep slumber-though of course, she couldn't have been sleeping because everything had been much too real for that; the cold, the owl dæmon and her boy, the faun, the clear, pure white snow, how clearly she had seen and felt it all, surely it had been no dream-Lucy went the door and opened it.

Peter stood there looking perfectly calm as though he'd just gotten up, dressed himself, brushed his hair and teeth, cleaned his face, and then strolled down to her room. But she had been gone for _hours_! How could this be?

"We've come back." Reepicheep informed Lucy's brother somberly.

"Come back?" Peter chuckled, seeming to think they were playing a joke on him. "Come back from where?"

"From the world behind the wardrobe." said Lucy in as clear and serious a tone as she'd ever used, her face dead-straight, waiting to hear what Peter would think about all this. "You wouldn't believe it, Peter, I went in there and came to this black gauzy thing and when I pulled it back, there was snow and trees-a whole forest full!"

Peter smiled a slow, almost sleepy-looking, half-amused smile and then took her hand to lead her down to breakfast as she tried to tell him the rest of her story, all the while getting a rather nasty feeling she couldn't quite put a name to-or even explain. He barely reacted at all when she told him about Edmund Coulter, though his eyes widened a little as she talked about the boy's owl dæmon so vividly.

So that he could follow his human without being instantly detected as a dæmon by any servants or students who might see him, Reepicheep shifted into the form of a sleek, golden-brown cat with black-tipped ears.

"And he had a faun for a friend!" Lucy added enthusiastically as she walked along at Peter's side-he still held onto her hand, leading her.

"How nice." said Peter, the slow smile coming back to his lips.

For one horrible moment, Lucy thought she could just almost put a name to that dreadful feeling stirring in the pits of her stomach, but she ignored it for a little while, desperate to be wrong.

"Where are we going?" Lucy knew they were going to have breakfast but she realized then that she hadn't been informed as to where it would be served.

Making a left turn into a smaller hallway with a finer, dark purple carpet on the floor, one so soft Lucy wished she could take off her shoes and walk along it in her stockings, Peter explained that they were to have breakfast in one of Lord Digory's retiring rooms as the Professor had apparently specifically requested that, starting the day after their arrival, they take their meals with him in his own private rooms.

The retiring room he was waiting for them in was a very elegant one indeed with dark, plum-coloured walls from which hung thick scarlet tapestries all centered around an oval peach-wood table so round it reminded one almost instantly of King Arthur and his knights. Large as the table was, there were only three places set with silverware made from solid silver and white china plates with real golden trimmings around their edges. Dishes of sausage, pancakes, cream-filled pastries, bacon, eggs, and cheese were in the middle of the table, just waiting to be snatched up and eaten.

Lucy's nose was tickled delightfully when the smell reached her, but her concern over Peter's rather bland reaction to her incredible adventure in the wardrobe did a fair job of over-shadowing this.

The professor was just helping himself to a couple of eggs and a servant was pouring some coffee for him when he noticed Peter and Lucy standing in the doorway. "Ah, the Pevensie siblings, come in, you must be hungry."

Peter obeyed and walked himself and Lucy up to the table. Lucy, all the while, had begun looking for Lord Digory's dæmon, not letting her darting eyes rest until she spotted the little robin hidden up in the rafters above them.

Reepicheep rested under the table at her feet when she sat down to eat, his ears turned up, making him look very alert (perhaps he had been looking for the robin up until that point, too).

"I guess our whole visit with the faun didn't take up any time here after all, not if the Lord Professor's still serving breakfast." Reepicheep's voice was very low (Peter, Lord Digory, and the servant attending to their table, couldn't hear him at all), but Lucy would have heard and understood even his smallest whimpers as likely as not, and she looked down at him briefly to wiggle her eyebrows in agreement.

After she had politely answered all of Lord Digory's conversation-pieces (did she sleep well? yes, she had. Did she like her room? Of course, she thought it was perfectly lovely. Had she and her brother been able to find the retiring room with enough ease? She thought he ought to ask Peter that one since it was he who had done all the leading), she asked Peter if he would like to go exploring when they finished breakfast.

"I don't know how Lord Digory would feel about us running all over his college, Lu. Perhaps we could have a look-round if he will give us his permission for an hour or so." Peter told her, cutting into a pancake.

"I don't mean the college." her voice went flat and Reepicheep's ears went back. "I mean the snowy-wood."

At this, Lord Digory looked at the boy with a little more than the vague interest he'd shown up until then, saving most of his attentions for Lucy, seeming very curious as to what they were talking about.

Sensing the Professor's interest and mistaking it for confusion, Peter gave the worst possible answer he could have given, completely breaking poor Lucy's heart. "Oh, she was making up a story a few moments ago; it was about a snowy-wood and fauns and things, I suppose she wishes to keep on playing her game after breakfast. And why shouldn't she?"

The bad feeling hit Lucy ten times as hard now. It was true, then, Peter _didn't_ believe her! He thought she was making up a story for fun. If she had been a very different sort of girl, she would have felt remorse over the times she _had_ made up play-stories in the past, but she didn't because she knew they were not lies, only games. And Peter knew the difference between those and when she was trying to tell him something important-something real. Or so she had thought up until now.

"I wasn't playing, Peter, honest I wasn't." Lucy said firmly, looking over at her brother with her most intense, 'please listen to me' facial expression.

Wincing at the unexpected upset stirring in his little sister, in front of the Lord Digory, a well-known, high-society man, no less, Peter whispered to her, "Lucy, sweetie, I think that's enough now, you've had your fun, let's just drop it."

Lucy's jaw opened partway like there were words caught on her lips that would not come out, quivering slightly. Beside herself, aghast, and broken, she willed her mouth to speak words that would convince her brother. Words like: I've never lied to you before, only kept a few secrets here and there, you have to believe me! You can't think I'm making this up! You can't! But none of that would come out.

"We can play later," said Peter in a very, very patronizing tone, so sickeningly sappy that he hadn't used that exact one on her since she'd passed her fourth birthday.

That was the last straw; Lucy pushed back her chair, picked up Reepicheep-who let out a sharp, disagreeable cat-hiss in Peter's general direction-and said, "Thank you for everything, Lord Digory, it smells wonderful, but I am not hungry." Fixing her teary-eyed gaze on her brother, she added, "I've just had tea with my friends, as I told you."

Turning on her heels, clinging tighter to Reepicheep for moral support, she fled the room. Moments later, her face hot all over from the embarrassment of that whole scene being replayed in her mind over and over, it occurred to her that she might have grabbed Peter's sleeve and pulled him back to the wardrobe so he could see for himself. It was too late by then, though, for the mere thought of going back in there and facing them again, looking like a red-faced sullen baby of sorts...no, she could not endure that right now. Never before in her whole life had Lucy been afraid of looking like a little child; after all, she _was_ a child! Yet, she feared it now because she realized just how rare it was for a child to be taken seriously, something she had never really cared about, until now.

Back in the retiring room, Lord Digory turned to Peter and waited for the lad to take his face out of his hands (obviously, realizing how deeply he'd just upset his beloved little sister was distressing to him). When the two of them locked eyes again, Lord Digory dismissed the servant and then meekly requested that Peter tell him all about this 'story' Lucy had 'come up with'.

Peter told him.

"Peter, surely you believe in other worlds." Lord Digory's voice wasn't stern but it implied that it could turn into sternness quickly enough.

"Well...of course..." Peter stammered, feeling as awkward as if his mouth was filled with marbles, fighting against an ever stiffening tongue. "...I mean, people don't have dæmons in our world...generally...but...behind a wardrobe...and goat-legged men..."

"Take it from me," Lord Digory's eyes flickered over to his dæmon and then back to Peter. "in all likelihood, your _sister's_ story is true."

Peter's blue eyes widened and he dug his fingers into the side of the chair he was sitting in. "Why did you stress the world 'sister' like that?"

"Haven't recognized me yet?" two gray eyebrows shot up. "I'm surprised at you! You always seemed like such a bright boy."

"You're my Uncle Kirke." Peter said simply, not getting how his question and the Professor's answer were connected. "Maybe we met once before, but I don't recall..."

Annoyed, Lord Digory lifted up his hand and waved that aside for the time being. "Anyhow, if you want my advice, I think you should apologize to your sister and warn her to be very careful in the future-a suggestion of her not going into that other world alone from this point on would not be amiss."

Speechless, Peter merely goggled at him.

A new thought came to Lord Digory as he let his words sink in, plucking at the side of his neat brown suit, sort of half-waiting to see what Peter would say next. "By the way, whom did you say your sister met in that other world?"

"A faun, Tum-something or other..." Peter furrowed his brow, trying to remember what it was Lucy had called the goat man. "...I forget...also, some boy with an owl dæmon."

Lord Digory's face relaxed and his own dæmon flew over and landed on his left shoulder. "Doesn't sound too alarming." He pondered over this. "Did Lucy say anything else about the boy other than the fact that he had an owl dæmon?"

"Like what?" Peter suddenly felt a little light-headed, this conversation was whirling about a little too speedily for his liking, making him very uneasy.

"Anything; a name for starters." he leaned over to reach for his pipe, disappointed to find that the servants had mislaid it in such a way that he would have to get up to reach it.

"Edmund, I think she said...Edmund...Coulter..."

Never in his life had Peter imagined a face gone so pale as Lord Digory's face did at that very moment. His lips trembling, he murmured, " _Coulter_?"

Professor Kirke's dæmon, struck dumb with horror, got a stupid expression about her, and a short yelp escaped from Peter as he stood up hastily, tossing back his chair and trying to decide what to do now. For he recognized Lord Digory at last; he was one of the people who had been at his home eight years ago, one of the men who had brought Lucy and Reepicheep into his life. He had been the one with the stupid-looking bird dæmon.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Peter asked when he found his voice had returned to him, daring to go over to Lord Digory and grip his shoulders gently, worried that the poor man might break down and have a stroke right there in the middle of the retiring room.

"She's come into contact with the Coulters," whispered Lord Digory, shaking his head, not looking directly at Peter-in spite of the fact that he was standing right in front of him, still holding onto his shoulders-while he spoke. "what could be possibly be _right_?"


	6. The Silver Compass?

As he stared blankly at the old professor, watching the poor man shudder and mourn in a very inward fashion, not explaining himself right away, Peter tried to fathom what on earth it was about the Coulters that had incurred that reaction from Lord Digory. He played the sound, taste, and feel of that surname over and over in his mind, but it had no effect, he himself knew nothing at all of these dreaded Coulters.

"Peter, we tried, we tried our best." Lord Digory said gravely, smoothing out a crease in the jacket of his suit as he stood up straighter, bracing himself and the boy in front of him for the worst. "But it has happened anyway, the girl will be a part of what is to come, and it is sooner-far sooner-than I had imagined."

Crinkling his forehead, Peter took a step back from Lord Digory because the look on the man's face was starting to scare him as it grew more and more intense. "What are you talking about, Sir?"

"You remember the night the baby Lucy and her dæmon, Reepicheep, were first brought to your home, do you not?" Lord Digory's voice was a sigh-like tone, resigned and sad.

"Of course!" said Peter, not getting what that had to do with the Coulters.

"Do you know _why_ that girl-infant at the time-was brought to your parents?" asked Lord Digory, sitting back down at the table with a weary groan.

"To protect her." Peter said simply. After all, that was what his parents had always told him whenever he'd gotten a chance to ask for a more detailed explanation (during the very rare moments when Lucy was actually sitting more than two feet away from the ever-watchful and concerned couple).

"Yes, Peter, to protect her..." In spite of the fact that he had just sat down, Lord Digory stood up again, grabbed his pipe, took his seat once more, filled the pipe with tobacco from a near-by silver holder, and inhaled deeply.

"There's more?" Peter sensed something in the undercurrent of the Lord Professor's tone.

"I cannot explain it, not right now," Lord Digory told him, tightening his lips around the pipe in-between words. "it's much too complicated."

" _What_ is too complicated?" Peter felt he needed to know, placing his hand on the table and resting most of his weight on it.

"The 'betrayal'; we wanted to prevent it, but it seems..." Lord Digory's words grew steadier as his voice trailed off and colour returned to his face, though something-hope?-that had been there before did not return with it. "..all the same, she may be victorious in the end."

"Wait..." Peter lifted up his palm (the one not pressed up against the table-top); his face felt strangely flushed. "...you're talking about _Lucy_? And what 'betrayal'? Who exactly do you think she is going to betray? Lucy wouldn't hurt a fly."

The robin chirped dejectedly. "Oh, no one! _She_ isn't going to betray anyone..."

"Peter, my boy," Lord Digory looked at the young man in front of him with more warmth and sympathy than he had yet to grace upon him since his arrival. "it will be a Coulter who betrays her; it was a story long-told before my time, a tale destined to become fact-to become history."

"I don't understand..."

"You don't have to, poor lad, it doesn't concern you." said Lord Digory, the faint trace of a tear or two floating about in the deepest folds and corners of his eyes. "You see, it will not become history in _this_ world, but in the one it seems Lucy has just discovered."

Peter had had quite enough of this; the professor was apparently babbling absolute nonsense! Whatever he was talking about from that other world, was _in_ that other world, and Lucy was here with them. So even if by some chance, the professor wasn't batty, and there really was going to be an act of betrayal towards Lucy preformed by someone with the surname Coulter, it wasn't as though they could come charging through the other side wardrobe door and grab her. Was it?

"The Coulters-whom ever they are-can't get into this world, can they?" Peter asked the professor. The words sounded strange, like they were being said by someone else with a similar voice to his own.

Lord Digory looked almost annoyed for a moment, a deepening frown forming, ingraining itself into his expression, before the words fully registered. "Eh what's that? The Coulters come _here_?" his eyebrows shot up so high on the man's forehead that Peter thought it would be a very short trip for them to reach the Lord Professor's hairline. "I don't think so, even if they _could_ , there's no evidence that they would want to."

Taking another puff on his pipe, he added, "No, no, the betrayal will happen only when she goes back into that world; back into the world she was born in."

Though he was thirsting for knowledge, for Lord Digory to tell him all that he knew about this other world (his notions of it being nonsense had very nearly melted away by this point), and Lucy's supposed place in it, and the traitorous Coulters he was so anxious about, all Peter said aloud was, "But...she doesn't _have_ to go back...we can keep her here...she'll always be safe here with me, I promised."

"She will go back." Lord Digory said rather loudly in a tone so final that there was no arguing with it. "I've known that since the first day we carried her to your household," his tight face softened and he looked wistful now, relaxing a formerly clenched fist. "I was just hoping she would be older, and not such a little child still."

Meanwhile, Lucy sat on the edge of her bed with Reepicheep in his beaver form, up on his hind legs, beside her. With angry, trembling fingers, she reached for the small leather pouch that had once been Reep's hiding place and was now a sort of case for the silver pocket watch Digory had given her. Stroking it with the side of her wrist as the glittering object rested on her lap, she tried to decide what to do next.

"I don't think Peter meant to be cruel, Lucy." Reepicheep said finally, after they had been sitting in silence for what felt like a very, very long time.

"I know," Lucy sighed, gripping the pocket watch so tightly that her knuckles went moonlight-white. "but that almost makes it worse."

Reepicheep shifted into a brown weasel and nuzzled against his human comfortingly. Usually, such a gesture on his part made Lucy smile, and she would scoop him up and cuddle him for as long as she dared, but she was too disappointed and hurt for that now. How could Peter not have believed her? Was that really all he saw her as? A baby that needed protecting? The only friend she had in this world other than her dæmon didn't even see her as a half-equal? Just because she was little and he'd had to look after her a lot growing up? Didn't he realize that, in spite of the fact that she was only eight, she was getting older, and that one day he would actually have to take her seriously? Not now, though.

Fighting back a few extra sniffles, Lucy flipped the pocket watch open to puzzle over the letters, knowing well that a new idea will stop a flow of tears when nothing else will. For the first time, she noticed that the two hands of this 'clock' were not a short one and a long one, but two gold-coloured pointers, both of the same length. And while one of them stayed put and did nothing at all as she gazed down at it, the other, kept pointing to the O with a slash through it.

"What do you suppose that means?" Reepicheep leaned over the side of her arm to get a better look at what the hand was doing.

"Well, I don't know, except..." Lucy's eyes rolled over to the door of the wardrobe where the matching slashed O was carved into the tree.

"Lucy, look!" exclaimed Reepicheep as he shifted into a mouse with a golden band and red feather.

Lucy's eyes widened along with those of her dæmon because they saw the most amazing thing, the O with a slash had gone silvery all over although the tree and the rest of the wardrobe remained brown; it looked as bright as a star and a sort of ringing hum seemed to come from it.

On the pocket watch, the hand whirled around seven times and kept landing on that slashed O over and over again. Because of this, a new thought occurred to Lucy: "Reep! Suppose it's not really a 'watch' after all, but a sort of compass?"

"Compass?" Reepicheep looked confused. "Don't compasses usually have clear markings of directions like North, South, East, West, and what not?"

The mouse was quite right in thinking this, but Lucy was fairly certain she was still onto something all the same. "I don't think it's _that_ sort of compass, but it might be closer to that than to something that tells time."

"What do you think we should do?" Reepicheep asked her, watching as his human stood up-still clutching the silver pocket watch, gazing back and forth from it to the wardrobe with goggling eyes.

Part of Lucy wanted to show it to Peter and get his advice, even after how deeply he had disappointed her, but Lord Digory had told her not to let anyone know she had it, so that was ruled out. She might wait a while and then ask the Lord Professor himself to see if he had any suggestions about what she ought to do-she wasn't so sure he would be as quick to disbelieve her as Peter had been. But then there was the chance that he might think the world behind the wardrobe was unsafe and attempt to keep her from it. Though she couldn't fully understand it, Lucy did feel a strange sort of connection to that other world, short as the time she had spent in it had been.

"I think we should try to go back," said Lucy, walking towards the door. "just to figure some things out. After all, if it was still the same hour and minute as we left when we came back the first time, no one will worry about us too much if we go again."

Reepicheep, not to be out-done by his own human, gave her a somber little half-nod and took a step forward.

Ever so carefully, Lucy placed the silver pocket watch back into the leather pouch; tightening the strap around her waist so that she wouldn't be in danger of losing it.

Shifting into the form of a small, very furry, fox-like pup of some sort, Reepicheep asked if she was ready.

"It'll be cold..." she realized, suddenly remembering how much snow that other world-or at least the part of it she had been in-was covered with. "...I'd best take my coat..."

Sniffing at the door, pawing at its corner, Reepicheep suggested another alterative. "What if you take one of the smaller fur coats from the wardrobe itself?"

Lucy's face went a little green, not because it was a bad idea, but because she wasn't sure whether or not it would be considering stealing. On the one hand, the wardrobe _was_ in her room for her to access whenever she needed-or wanted-to. On the other, no one had actually _said_ that she was allowed to take the coats-they might just have been put there for storage or something.

"I think it's all right," said Reepicheep, apparently knowing what his human was pondering over. "in a manner of speaking, we aren't even taking the coat out of the wardrobe."

"Well, I don't know..." Lucy hesitated a moment longer.

Foot steps boomed from the hallway outside her room, and she felt herself jump; shuddering out of nervousness. Of course, common sense told her that it wasn't likely to be anyone besides Peter or Lord Digory or else maybe a servant, but she felt startled anyway. She didn't want to talk to anyone right now and perhaps lose her chance of getting back to that other place; it seemed to be all but calling out to her now, like she simply _needed_ to be there.

"Quick, Reep!" Lucy swung the wardrobe door open and hopped inside, Reepicheep right behind her as she closed the door part-way and made a dash for the back where the gauzy curtain was.

"Don't forget to take a coat!" Reepicheep warned her, panting as he stood still to catch his breath while Lucy fumbled to reach behind her to snatch up one of the coats. Her fingers already felt sort of numb from the little smacks of cold air wafting up from under the black curtain. She couldn't get a proper grip on it and dropped it twice before finally managing to fling it over her shoulders and pull her arms through.

The coat was far too big on her and looked more like an over-sized brown ceremonial robe than anything else; but the delightful warmth and the fact that all the thick fur assisted in hiding the leather pouch made up for any inconveniencies the garment may have had. Besides, draping herself with the heavy pounds of fur was very much like playing dress-up, a game Lucy rather enjoyed-just like any other little eight year old girl would-and she couldn't have been more pleased with it.

Once she was back in that other world, Lucy shivered violently and shoved her face into the warm sleeve of the fur coat. A horrible wind was slapping at her and she could hear Reepicheep's shrieks and whimpers as clear as day, though she couldn't see him by her side, blinded by what looked like a swarm of a million white bees pushing along in front of her eyes. It came to her suddenly that she had come back, by some dreadful mistake, right in the middle of a snow-storm.

Of course, her first instinct was to run back to Lord Digory's college where she would have been safe, but she couldn't see the back of the wardrobe clearly anymore. It was a blur; hidden again and again by the swarms. Spinning around more times than she could count, lost and dizzy now besides, Lucy found that she must have gone in a very different direction than last time without seeing it because there was no sign of the lamppost and its yellow light. The wind howled again and Reepicheep bleated, crying out for her, clinging to her leg as they tumbled down something that felt like a small hill.

This time, Lucy screamed along with him as she felt herself falling so quickly without much sense of what was happening other than the dim knowledge that she had gotten herself caught in a storm. When she came to a stop, at what was presumably the bottom of the hill, she found that the fur coat she was wearing was covered in icy sleet and frost-making her feel very cold. This lasted only for a moment, however, because she had also unknowingly hit her head a few times and was slowly drifting into complete darkness. Her only comfort was that she was not alone even there, even in the nothingness of the mind, Reepicheep drifted with her.

Back at the college, it had been Peter at Lucy's door. After his conversation with the Lord Digory, he had suddenly found himself running; running as quickly as he could towards his little sister's room. He wasn't sure why, only that he thought somewhere in his subconscious that it might protect her somehow. What Lord Digory was saying seemed more real with every passing moment, and Peter could not sit back and let what the professor called, 'the betrayal' happen to Lucy-even if he didn't know what it was. He'd get a padlock on that blasted wardrobe if he had to-anything to keep her safe. Even if he had nail that door shut, he would. Nothing would stop him from keeping his baby sister out of danger. Or so he thought...until he reached her room...finding it unoccupied.

"Lucy?" Peter called, praying that she was only playing hide and seek under the bed. "Lu?"

No answer.

Desperate, he added, "I've come to apologize, Lu, please come out."

That would have triggered a response in her if she had actually still been there. Since she wasn't, however, dead-silence continued.

His heart beating like a drum now, Peter fast-walked over to the bed and threw the cover up to look under it-Lucy wasn't there. His little sister wasn't hiding, she was simply not in the room.

"She's probably just gone to the washroom or something." Peter said very unconvincingly under his breath as if to reassure himself, though he was doing a very pitiful job of it.

The unlatched wardrobe door creaked open the rest of the way, and at once, Peter knew, if he hadn't already known, exactly where Lucy was.

Lucy was in that other world. What did he care if it was the world she was born into? That didn't mean she had to belong there-in a place where she would be betrayed. No, he decided, he had to go after her and drag her all the way back here to Lord Digory's college if need be.

All but throwing himself into the wardrobe, Peter groped about until he came to the gauzy black curtain-accidentally ripping part of it and falling through the rather large hole he had created, right into a snowy wood. There was no storm when he got there, only a calm, dim purple-gray twilight hour sky littered with a few scattered pinkish, dirty-white clouds.

In that other world, time was different. The last time Lucy had gone, Peter hadn't known at all because no time in their own world had passed. This time, it was different: a few minutes-perhaps five minutes-had passed in their world (just enough time for Peter to figure out what he needed to do) while any amount of time might had sped by in this one. At any rate, the storm was over. It may have been hours after Lucy fell, or else it may have been only twenty minutes. Though Peter, knowing nothing about the storm, saw only one thing: That he was in a strange new place, and his Lucy was no where to be found.


	7. The Experimental Station

Along the pure whiteness of the tall, crisp piles of icy sleet left over from the storm earlier that day, there was the sight of a row of three long, dark iron-coloured things skidding on the rougher parts of the hills and rushing smoothly along where the snow was not as hard.

The 'things' were hard-looking sleighs, the kind that have thick railings on their sides and can seat a good number of passengers in the back, especially if they are unusually small persons or else children. The sleighs were being pulled by teams of reindeer. The largest one had pale, gray reindeer that had an almost silvery-white hue to their coats, but the other two had ordinary brown ones.

"Stop!" The driver of the gray reindeer halted suddenly, making the sleigh just behind him nearly fall off the hill (thankfully the brown reindeer regained their balance in the nick of time). "Look!" He lifted his arm which was covered by the wool sleeve of his midnight-black, panther-fur coat, pointing with his knitted-glove protected index finger. "Over there!"

In a pathetic little blob, there was the shape of a person-a child, it seemed-laid out in one of the snow-drifts. The man who had first noticed the child got up, left his reindeer in the care of the other men-who were dressed exactly like himself, and went over to have a closer look.

It was a female, a little girl, with reddish-brown hair and round cheeks reddened from the cold. Her dæmon-passed out just like his little lady-shifted from a fox-like pup to a slightly over-sized deer mouse. That was all the man needed to see; the girl would be of use back at Bolvangar. So he scooped her and her dæmon up and carried them over to the sleigh with the gray reindeer.

"Put her with the others." said a man adjusting a loose strap on one of the brown reindeers' harnesses.

Obediently, the man lifted her up, placing her into the back of sleigh where there were five or six other children-some a little older than she was and some a little younger-all shivering and clutching their dæmons.

The youngest one in the group, a small, green-eyed boy, too little to be quite as afraid as the others, whispered, "Why's that girl asleep?"

No one, least of all the other children, attempted to answer him, although the two eldest ones, a brother and sister-possibly twins-of about nine or ten, did poke the sleeping girl lightly as if uncertain whether or not she was actually alive. She was; and their curiosity for the moment was more than satisfied; they could get back to huddling together fearfully.

Lucy, for of course that's who the girl they found was, did not start to wake up until the sleighs had nearly reached their destination. Groggy, she blinked twice then tried to sit up, almost shaking off the blanket one of the men had haphazardly tossed over her before giving their reindeer an extra smack with a long, thin whip to make them go faster. Her head ached terribly, her nose was cold and runny, and her eyes watered instantly. It was so dark out; not storm-darkness, however, it was a natural, nighttime sort of dark. She must have been asleep for a good while, that much was for sure, but how she had gotten on a sleigh was beyond her.

Shinny eyes glittered at her from very close-by and she noticed the other children all at once. Her eyes locked with a pretty brown-eyed girl running her fingers along the fur of a dæmon that was presumably in the form of a cat; it was too dark to tell for sure.

Reepicheep sat up-still in the form of a mouse-and looked about franticly. "Lucy, where are we?"

Lucy was about to tell him she didn't know, but as soon as her lips parted, they cracked and bled-dried out from being frozen stiff for so long. Besides, he could tell just by her stunned expression that she had no more notion of what was going on than he did.

A tall building loomed up behind a snow-covered, hedge-like gate which the sleighs drew ever closer to. The child sitting to Lucy's left whimpered but was quickly hushed by another one older than he was. This building had an eerie sort of glow about it, dome-shaped and made with stones of dark blue and pale bluish-white. It was not pearly enough to look like an igloo besides being much too spacious for that. The roof seemed to be made almost entirely of glass; not pretty stain-glass, the sort found in castles and churches and other things of that sort, but the plain, clear kind that fogs up easily.

Within what felt both like mere seconds and many hours at the same time, the children were all ushered out of the sleighs hurriedly, including Lucy who held Reepicheep tightly in the folds of her aching, shivering arms.

"I don't like the looks of this." his golden band glittered under the light of a half-moon shinning above and his feather looked wilted, like a dying flower.

I don't like it either, Reep, I'm scared, Lucy thought to herself but didn't speak out loud.

The doors of the building-which were made of the same kind of glass as the roof, lined with tan-coloured pine wood-opened, creaking in a way that reminded some of the more superstitious children of haunted houses, and a tall man with a grin just a little too big for his face came out to greet them.

"Please, sir," Lucy found her voice at last, gently nudging her way to the front so that she could speak to this man. "I-I-I got lost in the snow storm...I woke up on the sleigh with all the others...where am I?"

Placing a strong-but not completely rough-hand on her shoulder, he said, "No need to fret, my poor child, you-all of you-" here he paused and glanced over at the other children. "are safe, this is a good place."

"Yes, I see," said Lucy, in spite of the fact that she didn't think it was a 'good place' at all. "but what is it?"

"It's called the Experimental Station." If he had mentioned-even if it was only in passing-that the 'Experimental Station' was also known as Bolvangar, located in this district of Harfang, Lucy would have at once thought of Edmund and announced that she was a friend of his. Things might have been very different for her if that had been the case. As it was, she had no idea that this was Bolvangar, or how close-by Edmund really was at the moment though he could not see her, nor she him.

The men who had been driving the sleighs grunted and motioned with their chins for the children to go inside with the man.

"Please," Lucy tried again, feeling rather weary and very uneasy still. Something just wasn't right. "I would like to go back home; I know my way from the lamppost."

"Of course, of course." The man said in a very patronizing tone. "You all want to go home, of course you do, surely, surely, but not before you've gotten a nice bath, some warm clothes, and a hot meal, right?"

The children's stomachs growled at the same time, making a very deep rumble, assuring the man that he was more than correct. Lucy's stomach growled, too, much as she willed it to be quiet. Next thing they all knew, they were being led down a long white hallway towards a two-sided room where the girls were taken to one side by a woman in a nurse's smock and cap, and the boys were taken to the other by the man.

"I don't want a bath," Lucy announced, clinging to Reepicheep so tightly that it's a wonder she wasn't choking herself through her dæmon. "I need...I can't stay here..."

"Oh, poor girl, so cold from snow and fright, don't be afraid, little girl." the nurse, who's teeth were so small, sparkling white, and straight that it almost hurt to look at them for too long, said.

"You're hungry, then? You'll have your own way, sweetheart, no bath-for now-just let me rub your feet with some alcohol so you don't catch pneumonia and of course you must change out of those damp clothes, bath or no bath." The woman's tone was kindly, of course, but there was something under it, something distant and forced, that made Lucy think she was being insincere.

A few other nurses who looked a lot like the one talking to Lucy came in and started attending to the other little girls, drawing their baths and such, while Lucy's nurse opened a small, clear bottle and told Lucy to put one foot up on a little cream-coloured stool.

"Here you go, dear." she started rubbing the alcohol into her feet; the smell was so strong that Lucy coughed five times in a row before she could breathe comfortably again.

"If you don't mind my asking," said Lucy, looking up at the nurse with wide eyes. "why do you call this place the Experimental Station? I mean, what do you do here?"

"What's your name, sweetie?" the nurse asked.

"Lucy." she answered honestly.

"Well, Lucy, this is a very special place, a place where we help children...it's very important and you should feel happy-no, honoured, actually-that you've found us."

Blinking in confusion she said, "But I didn't find you, I was in the snow and the men must have picked me up."

"Well, that doesn't matter." the nurse decided, letting go of Lucy's foot and walking over to a wooden-panel closet, reaching in to grab something.

"Yes it does." Reepicheep insisted stubbornly before Lucy whispered for him to hush.

"Here, dearie," said the nurse, handing Lucy a folded up a pale blue under-garment shift and a white smock to go over it. "put these on at once."

"It smells funny." said Reepicheep in a cross tone. "I don't want my human wearing it."

The nurse bore a grimace on her face for about half a second, then proceeded to ignore him and repeat herself.

Although she didn't want to put it on, either, Lucy knew she couldn't stay in her damp clothing for ever-she was already sniffling. In fact, she was even starting to regret having turned down that bath. Sighing heavily, she obeyed and took off her fur coat, casting it aside.

Noticing the leather pouch still strapped around the girl's waist, the nurse asked what was in it, her hands straying to its opening flap almost automatically.

"It's my pocket watch." Lucy said quickly, placing her hands in front of the flap just before the nurse could lift it. "My uncle gave it to me, it's all I've got right now, don't touch it." That wasn't a lie-she had never been much of a liar-Lord Digory was supposed to be related to her anyhow.

"Oh, honey, don't upset yourself, I'm not going to take your pocket watch away, but the leather is wet, and you'll get sick if you keep it on. Take the watch out and I'll take the pouch away to dry." the nurse explained. "Doesn't that sound alright?"

"Um, I suppose..." Lucy reached in and snatched up the watch, thrusting it into Reepicheep's protective paws-it was a little big for him, but he managed-just as the nurse unfastened the pouch from around her.

After she had stripped down to nothing, taking off even her undergarments, she tossed the shift over her head. She didn't want the smock-barely being comfortable with the shift as it was-but the nurse insisted she could not parade about scantily clad.

Next, all of the children, boys and girls together, were taken to another room with pale blue floors the same colour as their shifts. In there were rows of long, very clean-looking tables like in a dinning hall. Some other children who had not been in the sleigh with them, dressed just the same as they were, sat there. Some sat sullenly with their arms folded across their chests, others seemed to be writing or else colouring with red and blue crayons, and a few chatted back and forth.

"You children are lucky." A nurse-not the same one who had helped Lucy change and had taken away her leather pouch-told them. "You're all cleaned up just in time to have supper with a bunch of other nice boys and girls, aren't you glad?"

No, thought Lucy, I'm not glad at all, I'm worried, I don't trust any of you and I'm trying to be reasonable here, but...but...oh...

Her thoughts drifted off-she was too tired to keep pondering over everything. Her head still ached and she just wanted to sit down for a while. There was an empty seat next to a pretty girl about a year younger than she herself was with a dæmon who was currently in the shape of a raccoon, and when she looked over at the nurse to see if it would be alright to go and sit with her, she got an agreeable nod in return.

When she had taken her seat, the girl leaned over and whispered, "What's your name?"

"I'm Lucy Pevensie." she whispered back. Remembering Reepicheep, she added, "He's called Reep."

"I'm Jill Pole, my dæmon answers to Isi." the girl told her, looking both ways with a half-nervous, half-sly expression on her face. "Are you an orphan, too, then?"

"No, of course not!" said Lucy as Reepicheep squirmed out of her grip, leaving the pocket watch in her lap, and went over to Isi-they seemed to be making friends. "I've got a mum and a dad back home and a brother."

"Really?" Jill raised an eyebrow at her. "You're a servant then? To a rich family who don't pay much mind to the help?"

"No!" Lucy exclaimed incredulously, speaking a little too loudly. "I'm not a servant at all."

"Servant's _child_?" Isi guessed, putting his oar into the conversation.

"No," answered Lucy.

"They've never had real ladies here before, only ragamuffins and what not..." Jill's tone was doubtful, sounding just as puzzled as Lucy felt.

"What do they want with us?" Lucy had to know.

"Well, I dunno for sure," Jill shook her head and looked over at Isi with a lost expression. "but they say they're going to give us some kind of operation and then they'll let us to home to our families, or if we haven't got any that they'll find us families...nice people who want to adopt us, they promise."

"Do you..." Lucy eyed the nurse who was the closest to them though she was a few feet away and couldn't hear a word they were saying, "...do you... _believe_ them?"

Jill wiped her eyes, fighting back tears. "No."

"Why not?"

She looked around to make sure no one was listening and then explained, "They took a friend of mine two weeks ago, you see, Eustace Scrubb-he never came back."

"Maybe he got adopted." Lucy suggested it, but somehow she didn't really believe that.

"He promised he wouldn't leave without me-he made the nurses swear that they'd find us both a home together, they swore it, Lucy." Jill really was crying now, though she kept wiping at her eyes in a poor attempt to hide it. "And they took him in and he never came back."

A little silver bell jingled and the promised supper was brought out to them. The nurses fluttered around, their rather bland-looking dæmons following at their heels, telling the children to put their toys away.

Jill noticed the silver pocket watch now-it remained resting in Lucy's lap because she was still afraid of someone trying to take it away from her. "Oh, that's pretty! What is it? Is it a toy?"

"Not really, it was a gift from my uncle." said Lucy.

"Uncle?" Isi shifted into a green-and-red parrot and whistled. "She's got an uncle _and_ a family, and she's _here_?"

Jill shrugged her shoulders. Looking at the watch, she repeated, "It's pretty." in a conversational sort of tone and then looked away. She didn't seem as interested in it now that she knew it wasn't a play-thing.

The meal, Lucy had to admit, was delicious. Plates of spaghetti with rich, thick tomato sauce and steaming meatballs, with bread rolls and a little bowl of lentil soup on the side. Everyone was given a good-sized helping; apparently starving children was not amongst whatever it was they did at this place. When they finished, the nurses even passed out two cookies for each child and a glass of warm milk. Lucy sipped hers quickly, wanting them to let her go now, ready to insist on being taken back to the lamppost, only to find that she was very sleepy afterwards. Whether this was just the effect of a good meal and regular warm milk or if perhaps they put something in the milk that made her sleepy, is uncertain, but either way, she still found herself being led-without protest-to another room where she was tucked into a bed with Reepicheep snoring loudly beside her.


	8. Susan and Maugrim

Peter was determined to find Lucy, no matter what. He didn't care that it was freezing, that it was getting close to the end of the day, or even that the tears that had sprung up into his eyes had turned into little icicles on his eyelashes. Doing the only thing he could think of to keep himself warm-which was swiping a coat from the wardrobe and throwing it over himself-he started hiking along the snowy hills. He'd find her, he promised himself, his beloved baby sister would not be lost, nor would she be betrayed. He would save her from whatever it was Lord Digory feared, just let _anyone_ try to stop him!

For whatever reason, Peter did not pass the lamppost and at the same time did not end up going the same way Lucy had gone when she'd gotten lost in the snow-storm. Instead, he found himself at the start of a very thick pine-wood, and remembering that Lucy usually loved to explore forests because she hadn't been taken-much less allowed-into very many of them in her life, he stumbled through it.

Tripping over far too many large rocks and stones hidden by piles of snow that very nearly came up to his knees in some cases, he found himself feeling more cold and wet with every step he took. The sun vanished and he was alone in complete darkness; he could go on no further, much as he tried to force himself to. Eventually he collapsed against the side of a tree-trunk and fell into a faint-like slumber until dawn.

Waking up in the middle of a pine-wood is probably fun for someone who has a strong tent and happened to have a good supper of fish the night before; but for Peter, who had neither of those things, and had come no closer to finding his little sister, 'fun' was not a word that he would have used to describe the experience. 'Painful' would have been closer to the truth. After all, he woke up stiff, with a sore throat, and with eyes that were swollen and puffy-of course it hurt terribly!

At first, Peter thought for sure his body would shake itself to death, but the sun rose higher in the sky, warming him and thawing his frozen limbs. There was probably a great deal of beautiful scenery in spite of the fact that Peter was unable to take any of it in, though he traveled through it for many hours. Apparently, he had been lucky enough not to catch anything too bad the night before; his throat started feeling better as the day dragged on.

Nothing else happened until well in the afternoon-before that, time had seemed to stop-even ceasing to exist. Then, all at once, a scream rang out echoing through the previously silent wood. It was a girl's scream and Peter raced towards it thinking it might be Lucy.

It was, in fact, not Lucy, but an older girl who couldn't be very much younger than Peter himself was. She had a bow and arrows which she was using to defend herself against a group of men who looked, to Peter, rather like a kind of gypsy clan. Their clothing was a bit on the ragged side but the cloth it was made out of seemed to be of fine quality, at least three of them had golden earrings hanging from their left lopes, and their facial hair-which most of them appeared to have-was dark. They evidently all had dæmons, though they were moving around so quickly that Peter couldn't figure out which dæmon belonged to which person. He thought maybe the fox dæmon might just belong to the man with the chain-mail sleeves, but then it seemed that the leopard dæmon was closer to his side. Guessing started to made him feel dizzy so Peter forced himself to stop, focusing more on the girl now, and less on the men.

The girl shot at two of the men and nailed them with her arrows; they died and their dæmons went out like lights, bursting, then, into a little blast of golden dust before vanishing as if they had never existed.

Peter hadn't seen very many deaths in his lifetime (the only one he could remember sort of clearly was his grandfather who'd had a heart attack a few feet away from him when he was a very little boy) and had certainly never seen anyone possessing a dæmon die. It was a little sobering, he couldn't help thinking, the knowledge that if anything ever happened to Lucy, Reepicheep would vanish in the same way as the gypsy-man's dæmon had.

A few more men were hit by her arrows, falling off of their horses, their dæmons reduced to naught but dust. One of them lunged at her with a knife, but she timed her arrow so that the stunned, careless man dropped it when he was struck. The girl was breathing heavily now and Peter noticed a handsome gray wolf panting at her side-he gathered that this must be _her_ dæmon.

Seeing that she was getting tired out and wouldn't be able to fight the remaining four men on her own, Peter decided to see if he could possibly charge in there and snatch her away from their midst, bringing her to safety somehow. He stepped carefully as he brought himself nearer to the fight, alert to anything-a stray twig, or a partly cracked acorn-that might make a noise and give him away.

Another arrow flew and it struck one of them-leaving only three, but they were dodging the arrows swiftly and getting closer and closer to the girl and her dæmon. Their own dæmons, a brown fox, a golden coon-dog, and a wild-looking hyena, snarled at the girl's wolf, edging him towards a fallen log, hemming him into a dead end. The wolf dæmon fought back what was left over of his breathlessness and growled at them, showing his sharp, bare teeth.

"Your game's up, Miss." the man who Peter now sort of figured out must have been the hyena's human, said coldly, pulling out a long sharp knife. "You're coming with us."

She gulped, horrified to discover that, not only were they getting nearer and nearer, but she was also completely out of arrows.

Behind her, unseen by either herself or her would-be captors, Peter climbed up the tree she was the closest to and settled on the branch only a couple of feet above her before reaching down and pulling her up by the middle of her arms. He held her steady by her waist, trying to pull her further up into the tree while the men shouted at him, one of them flinging a knife up at the branches-which missed them by a hair.

The girl screamed, and at first Peter assumed it was because she was startled by his presence and afraid of the knife that had nearly hit them, but then he realized that it was because her dæmon was still down there and the fox had bit him-causing the girl tremendous pain.

Though he didn't much like the idea of putting himself in the way of those men again, Peter knew that there was no possibility of truly saving the girl if he didn't save her dæmon as well. Swooping down, nearly getting his head sliced off by a curved blade, he managed to snatch up the wolf-heavy though he was-and put him on a high branch next to his mistress.

In spite of the fact that he had just rescued her-for which she was indeed grateful-the girl felt a moment of pure disgust towards Peter when he touched her dæmon; people weren't supposed to touch dæmons that didn't belong to them. It just wasn't done! Still, she had to admit that it was this unlucky, very impolite act that had probably saved them. The men hadn't expected him to just reach down and lift up a dæmon as though it was nothing but a very large dog.

As for Peter, it was only after he had already done it that he remembered how wrong it was to touch another person's dæmon. Of course, moments after the girl was pulling the wolf half-way into her lap, the memory of his father warning him not to touch any of the 'animals' that had been in his house eight years ago came flooding back to him.

Within seconds, the men left them with surprising speed-heading back towards the narrowest of the trees-which if followed, would be the most likely direction to lead them to a lake or a bay.

Assuming the men were only hiding, surely planning to come out and grab them as soon as they set foot on the ground, Peter remained in the tree. The girl on the other hand-clearly having a different view on the matter-didn't seem to think there was any reason for staying up there other than her own breathlessness and that of her dæmon. Inhaling and exhaling rapidly, trying to calm herself, she placed her hand on her heart.

When the men didn't so much as peek out and it really did seem as though they might not be hiding after all, Peter let his eyes drift over to the girl so as to get a good look at her now. She was something of a beauty, he realized, with long, dark hair and enchanting blue eyes. Her facial features were more than mildly pleasant to behold as well; and he gazed at them for as long he possibly could without being impolite. After having just touched her dæmon-even if doing so had saved her life as likely as not-he figured he had better attempt to show some manners.

"Aren't you going to help me down?" the girl asked when the shock of the whole event started to wear off at last.

Peter blinked at her, baffled for a split second having all but forgotten how high up they were. "Oh, um, yes, of course."

"Thank you," she breathed softly, still a little dazed in spite of herself.

Looking down, Peter voiced his fears. "Supposing they grab us..."

"But they're gone, long gone." said the girl. "You saw them leave."

"I thought-" he tried.

She understood. "They're very superstitious."

"Huh?"

"I think you just reaching down and grabbing my dæmon like that frightened them off."

"That's all it took?" Peter half-muttered in disbelief.

"I've yet to meet a sea-man who's an atheist, but I've met plenty of them who believe in superstitions with a little more... _intensity_...than the common people."

"They were sea-men, then?"

Her pretty brow furrowed slightly and her forehead crinkled. "Couldn't you tell? They were Telmarine Gyptians."

He offered the girl his hand and helped her down from the tree slowly, branch by branch, letting her lean on the side of his arm so she wouldn't slip and fall. Her dæmon didn't seem to need any assistance; either that or he didn't want to risk having to feel another human's touch on his fur again. As smoothly as if he was merely skipping stone steps in a city building, he leapt down-waiting for his mistress with his neck fur standing up, bristled and sharp.

Once the three of them were back on the ground, the wolf dæmon started sniffing around Peter's general direction as if searching for something. He went about it franticly, but he didn't seem to find whatever it was he was looking for. "Where's his dæmon?"

The wolf's voice gave Peter chills. While the girl's voice was lady-like and suited her well, the wolf's was deep, dark, sort of beautiful-sounding but only in a very nerve-racking kind of way.

The wolf pawed at the skirt of the girl's emerald-coloured dress. "He hasn't got a dæmon!"

Uneasy, Peter allowed his eyes to drift over to a sword one of the men-Telmarine Gyptians, as the girl called them-had left behind. It could have belonged to one of the survivors, or it could have been previously owned by one of the men pierced by the girl's arrows earlier, he wasn't sure. The question was: if the wolf were to attack him, what was he supposed to do? He could try to defend himself, but hurting the wolf would hurt the girl and he didn't want to do _that_.

The wolf didn't seem ready to pounce after all, though. Instead, it was the girl who started circling around him, gazing in pure marvel. "Impossible!"

"What do you mean?" Peter asked her.

"You don't have a dæmon!" she exclaimed, fascinated. "What method of cutting did you use?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Are you dizzy-because...you seem almost...normal..." the girl shook her head in pure amazment. "Is that why you...I mean..." She seemed to be losing her abilty to speak in complete sentences.

"What did you do with your dæmon when you gave him up?" the wolf wanted to know.

"I never had a dæmon." said Peter, taking a few steps back. He was, he had to admit, a little flattered by the girl's attention, but the fact that it was over his lack of dæmon made him uncomfortable.

"Never?"

"No, where I come from, no one has them...well...except for my little sister." he admitted.

"I'm sorry I was looking at you like that," the girl apologized. "It's just...I've never seen someone without a dæmon who wasn't a weakling on the verge of dying."

"That's really comforting." Peter replied dryly.

"I really am sorry." she laughed a little, trying to reassure him. "What's your name?"

Laughing along with her, he said, "Peter Pevensie."

"I'm Susan," she told him, reaching out to shake his hand. "Susan Coulter." Motioning at the wolf she added, "This is Maugrim."

Peter's eyes widened. " _Coulter_?"

"Yes, what's the matter?" Susan sensed the tension in his voice.

"Nothing..." Peter lied, shaking his head. "It's just...you aren't, by any chance, related to a boy who goes by the name of Edmund Coulter and has an owl dæmon, are you?"

"Yes, of course!" said Susan, looking over at Maugrim and then back at Peter again. "Edmund's my brother."

Susan didn't seem like the sort of person who would want to betray an innocent little girl like Lucy, but Peter was more than a little wary of her now all the same. Her last name was Coulter; she was from the family Lord Digory seemed to fear so greatly. It probably wasn't her, though, Peter decided, feeling surprisingly sure of it; the traitor, the betrayer, was from her family, but it wasn't _her_.

Without warning, a boy about Peter's age, obviously a Telmarine Gyptian just like the men Susan had just been fighting, popped out of the bushes to Susan's left and pointed a sword at them. Not thinking clearly, Peter grabbed the sword he'd noticed before, never minding that he wasn't really sure how to use it. Thankfully, he actually did have something of a talent for sword-play though he was unaware of it at the time.

"Susan Coulter, you are not going back to Bolvangar to cause more trouble, you will be coming with us willingly or by force." the boy moved a lock of his shoulder-length dark hair behind his right ear.

Peter stepped in front of her, holding out the sword. "Leave her alone!"

"Who are you?" he sounded more annoyed than anything else. His dæmon, a seagull flying above them letting out sharp, shrill bird-calls, swooped down threateningly.

"Go back to your ship, Caspian." Susan ordered with surprising firmness and authority; none of which seemed to have any effect on the Telmarine Gytian boy however.

"And what, let your horrible family keep striking at us?" Caspian hissed at her.

"Kidnapping me wont make things any better." Susan insisted, looking rather pained now. "How many more people have to die over this?"

"Depends on your mother, Susan." he replied simply, raising an eyebrow at her knowingly.

"Why don't you just kill me and get it over with?" Susan demanded. Maugrim snapped his teeth at the low-flying seagull viciously.

"You are of more use to us alive." Caspian reminded her. "Much more use."

Peter still didn't have the faintest notion of what was going on. All he knew was that he simply could not let this Caspian fellow kidnap Susan and Maugrim, he just couldn't do it. She may have been speaking calmly enough, but he could see clear as day-and was certain Caspian could see it, too-the fear behind her eyes. The poor girl didn't want to be taken away, and who knew what they might do with her once they had her? Peter knew he couldn't live with himself if he didn't stand there, willing his shaking wrist to steady itself, his fingers wrapping more and more tightly around the sword hilt.

"You should learn to control your dæmon, he's too wild for a lady of your station, Susan." Caspian informed her as his dæmon, having gotten something of a nick on the wing from the wolf's teeth, came flying back to his master, landing on his shoulder.

"Caspian!" someone in the distance shouted. "The ship is leaving."

"In a moment, I'm speaking to Miss Susan Coulter!" he called over his shoulder.

"No, not in a moment, now!" the voice screamed back. "We heard sleigh bells, there's a dæmonless young man helping her, and we've lost some of our best men. It's unlucky, Caspian, there'll be another time for this. We have to get back to the ship and pull out of the bay now!"

Shooting Susan a look of scorn as he slipped his sword back into its sheath, he muttered, "This doesn't mean anything, you wont get away with what you're doing up there in Bolvangar." Angrily, his eyes flashed over towards Peter before he took off. " _None_ of you will, I swear it!"

Lowering his sword, Peter turned to Susan. "What was he talking about?"

"Long story." Susan sighed, grabbing onto his arm. "Come on, the sleigh they heard was probably heading towards home. I need to get back there so that everyone knows I'm alright, and you'll freeze to death if you stay out here."

He allowed her to lead him away through a few paths of trees until they came to a stop in front of the most elegant sleigh Peter had ever seen in his life. It was as white as the finest porcelain, lined with railings made from solid gold, and pulled by a team of white reindeer in a scarlet harness. Little silver jingle-bells were hung around the red leather, making a merry little sound whenever the sleigh moved so much as a half-inch.

The driver was a man in all in black-and-blue wool; but the passenger was a fair-skinned lady in a white fur coat with blue eyes rather like Susan's and stylish butter-blond hair. A gorgeous golden monkey dæmon sat in her white-lace covered lap.

"Mother!" Susan cried out as soon as the sleigh came to a complete stop.

"Oh, Susan!" the woman stepped out and raced over to her daughter, embracing her tightly. "Look at you! The state of your clothes and hair, my poor, poor daughter!" She stroked Susan's face and kissed her cheek while speaking, holding her close. The golden monkey started stroking Maugrim's fur lovingly. "What happened, sweetheart?"

"Too much to explain, but I want you to meet someone." Susan told her when she finally pulled away slightly and the monkey took his paws off of Maugrim. She nudged Peter forward. "Mother, this is Peter Pevensie, he saved me from..." her voice trailed off and then picked up again on a different line of though. "...he doesn't have a dæmon."

The woman stretched out her perfectly manicured, creamy-smooth hand, smiled broadly, and introduced herself. "Lovely to meet you, Peter Pevensie, I'm Mrs. Coulter."

She was beautiful, just like her daughter, but there was something Susan had that Mrs. Coulter lacked-something just a little off about her. Peter felt both dazzled by Mrs. Coulter and a little afraid of her at the same time. But that didn't make any difference in his actions. He was cold and hungry and could not will himself to turn around and give up Susan's invitation to climb onto the sleigh with herself and her mother. So worn and exhausted that he almost fell asleep listening to the rhythm of the white reindeers' hoof-beats, Peter found himself speeding towards the current home of the Coulter family, a place they called Bolvangar.


	9. Waiting Fears

Lucy's day was vastly different from Peter's. Whereas his day was full of action and being swept-up into excitement, hers was quiet and surprisingly uneventful in many ways.

As soon as she woke up (and she assumed it was very well into the morning when she did, judging by the dim, but high-up winter sun she caught a passing glimpse of through one of the few hallway windows) the same nurse who had rubbed alcohol into her feet the night before came and whisked her away so that she could clean her face and nails and then go join the other children for breakfast. Everyone's voice was soft and sweet in speaking to her but Lucy still didn't trust them; it just felt too automatic. She didn't believe these people meant to let her go back home and stopped asking once she realized all she was going to get was an answer of false agreement followed by some pathetic distraction.

However tasty the food was; however warm the rooms she and all the others were put in to play were; however many treats the nurses fluttered in and out with, Lucy was not taken in. Reepicheep was simply indignant and refused to do anything expect stand still at her side with his sword held out and a scowl etched between his whiskers.

They were waiting. Waiting for a good escape plan to come to them, waiting for any chance of a moment when all the nurses backs were turned, waiting to see what the other children would do as the day dragged on, just waiting. Part of them may have even been waiting-or hoping, rather-to be rescued. Except, of course, that wasn't at all Lucy's typical way of dealing with things. She might have been young, and she might have been rather coddled all eight years of her life, but she was brave and clever enough to care for herself in many ways. In short, she didn't intend to stay for ever in this place. She thought perhaps she could stand this bizarre Experimental Station for another couple of days or so; anything beyond that would be unbearable.

"Lucy," Reepicheep whispered to his human, not bothering to lower his sword while he spoke. "what are we going to do?"

"I don't know yet, Reep." Lucy answered. The mouse was satisfied with her answer because she had said 'yet'. He knew Lucy and he knew how much weight that word carried with her; they were going to get out somehow-as soon as she figured it all out.

Feeling the need to fidget with something while she sat idly, as well as not wanting to attract too much of the nurses attentions while the other children busied themselves with toys and crayons, Lucy opened the silver pocket watch and gazed at it, running her fingers along its shimmering sides. It was such a beautiful trinket and she felt certain now, if she hadn't before, that Lord Digory had been right about its importance. If only she could puzzle out its meanings. If only she could simply figure out exactly _why_ it was so important.

"I say, Lucy!" Reepicheep put his sword away, shifted into a smaller mouse-a black, silky one-and climbed up her arm to her shoulder. "Do you remember what you said before? About it possibly not being a watch at all, but a compass?"

"Yes," Lucy leaned sideways so as to rub her cheek against her dæmon. "what about it?"

"Well, I was thinking about how it seemed to be telling us we needed to go back through the wardrobe again. You remember, when it kept on pointing to that same slashed O symbol and the matching one on the wardrobe-?" Reepicheep didn't even need to finish the full question before Lucy started to understand, and nodded for him to go on. "You don't think it could point the way out of here, too? If it really is a compass, shouldn't it point to our 'true north' or something?"

Lucy clenched her jaw for a moment and forced a tiny, docile smile onto her lips because her nurse was giving her a 'concerned' look. Anyone who had known Lucy well would have been able to tell she was faking and that she was actually whispering to Reepicheep through her teeth, but the nurse-barely knowing her at all-couldn't. "I don't know, Reep."

The nurse turned away to remove another child's (one much younger than Lucy) fingers from their nose; and Lucy started whispering normally again. "The hands aren't moving at all now. It's as dead-quiet as if it truly was nothing but an ordinary pocket watch and the battery was all used up."

"But it doesn't really run on batteries, does it?" Reepicheep asked curiously.

"No, I don't think so-there's a sort of glimmer about it all the same," Lucy explained. "but it doesn't seem like anything that's going to help us get out of here."

"Do you think we could help some of the other children here get out with us when we go?"

"Mightn't that be too risky?" Lucy felt sorry for the others but she didn't see what she could possibly do about that. It would be plenty difficult just to get herself and Reepicheep out. And there were so _many_ children here in this place, it would be nothing short of impossible to help them all escape.

Reepicheep flicked his tail up and down so that it lightly tapped Lucy's upper back just below her shoulder. She barely felt it, she was completely used to her dæmon's touch, and it seemed to her like little more than her own hair falling over her shoulders after being blown back by a light breeze.

"What about Isi and Jill Pole, then?" he asked, having taken something of a liking to the dæmon Isi, in spite of how little time they'd had to get acquainted.

"I _would_ like to take _them_ with us, if we could." Lucy agreed with him, glancing over at Jill who was currently drawing a picture of a small boy about her own age with some coloured pencils she'd found scattered in a few of the crayon boxes. She felt pretty sure it was Jill's lost friend, Eustace Scrubb she was drawing and thinking about. "Whatever they really did with Eustace must be something terrible. I've got an awful feeling about it, Reep, but I don't know for sure."

"I don't much fancy the grim looks on the faces of some of the older children-and even some of the younger nurses, for that matter-when they talk about this 'operation' we're supposed to get." Reepicheep said.

Lucy made a sickened face, tight with disgust and fear. "Well, they aren't going to give _us_ any operation! There's no way I'm going to let them touch me."

"Lucy, quick!" Reepicheep blurted out as he climbed down her arm back onto the floor, shifting into the form of a brown-stripped cat and making a low, hissing sound. "Play with the watch and don't let's talk for a little while, that nurse of yours is looking at us _again_."

Meanwhile, unknown to Lucy and Reepicheep, a sleigh, pulled by white reindeer of a much finer breed than the gray and brown ones that had pulled the children's sleigh in the night before were, was coming to a stop just outside the main doors.

Mrs. Coulter, looking elegant and alluring with her buttery curls and perfectly impish full-toothed smile, stepped out first. Servants, nurses who were not on duty (both male and female), and the tall man who had greeted the children when they arrived, all rushed out to meet her. Her golden monkey clung to her left shoulder, a prim, self-satisfied expression written all over his face.

Peter stepped off the sleigh awkwardly as though he might fall over, feeling a little dizzy from the ride. He did, however, turn around and offer his hand to Susan to help her step down in spite of not feeling quite himself, doing so as graciously as any trained footman. Susan actually blushed as she accepted his hand in front of everyone present, but Peter pretended not to notice this. Maugrim hopped off the sleigh behind her, rolling his eyes, thinking the whole exchange extremely silly. Glancing up at his human, he shook one of his paws, grimacing in an appalled fashion until Susan finally let go of the dæmonless boy's hand.

The servants and the others with them started to notice that Peter didn't have a dæmon and whispered back and forth that either he wasn't really a human or else Mrs. Coulter must have done something to him, something she hadn't let them try out on the children yet.

The only other person present who didn't have a dæmon was a red-bearded dwarf named Trumpkin (like fauns, dwarfs, too, never had dæmons). He was originally from much further south than Bolvangar, but had taken up employment (not completely from his own free-will, mostly out of being in dire-straights and suffering from a few other unpleasant circumstances) with the Coulter family. At first he had been assigned mostly odd-jobs fixing this or that broken piece of machinery or mending this or that shattered tool until recently when he had been promoted-or demoted, depending on how you looked at it-to being something of a personal manservant to Mrs. Coulter's son, Edmund, whenever the family was in the Harfang district.

It was a few moments after everyone started whispering about how 'remarkable' Peter was and mooning over Mrs. Coulter as if her bringing him to Bolvangar made her a goddess of some kind, that Trumpkin noticed his charge was not standing at his side. He should have figured, really, seeing as he hadn't heard the familiar sound of Eleanor Glimfeather clanking her beak in a while. Sighing to himself, he slipped back inside to look for the dark-haired lad before his mother got a chance to demand of him why he wasn't taking better care of her son, making sure he was there waiting when she returned.

The dwarf finally found Edmund dashing down the hallway, straightening out the front of his new, neatly-pressed, chestnut-brown doublet worn snugly over a pale-gray tunic and dark tights (It wasn't at all his usual appearance, perfectly groomed and put together like that, but it was what his mother liked to see and he had learned from a very early age that it was best not to get her cross). Ella was speed-flying about two paces behind him, trying to keep up.

"There you are!" Trumpkin exclaimed, trotting along side his young master as they approached the glass doors. "Your mother arrived nearly three minutes ago, it's a miracle she hasn't noticed your absence from the greeting party."

"I'm not _that_ late, DLF!" Edmund grumped, DLF being a sort of silly nickname he had made up for his manservant (meaning: Dear Little Friend).

"At least you were here," said Trumpkin, shaking his head in dismay, wondering what had been going through Mrs. Coulter's mind when she decided to make him her son's caretaker. "I was worried you were going to forget and be out for hours like you were yesterday."

"I told you, I was only visiting Tumnus's house for Tea." Edmund defended himself just before swinging the glass doors open and stepping out into the cold winter air, never minding the fact that he had no coat on, knowing well that they'd be coming back inside with his mother momentarily. "It _is_ mother who's always nagging at me to be more social."

Trumpkin understood that, but he still muttered to himself, "Pegs and Pail-drums! If he wants to get me killed, I don't see why the boy doesn't just run me over with a sleigh and have it done with!" He said this in a tone that had more dry-humour in it than fear, as, in all honesty, he rather liked Edmund most of the time. When he wasn't too busy worrying about him, that is.

"Hello, dear." Mrs. Coulter noticed her son standing there and kissed his forehead. The golden monkey reached out and started rubbing the back of his paws against the feathers on one of Ella's snow-coloured wings.

He greeted his mother automatically, but his attention wasn't really focused on her at all, nor was it drawn towards his sister. It was Peter he instantly locked eyes with, noticing him at once for who he was. He was a young man who had no dæmon; Lucy hadn't been telling lies after all.

"You're Lucy Pevensie's brother." Edmund said.

A boy with dark-hair and an owl dæmon; Peter knew exactly who _he_ was, too. "You're Edmund Coulter."

What happened next was quite strange; the two boys continued to stand perfectly still, looking at each other unflinchingly with half-sternness, both seeming to each be silently asking the other where Lucy was and whether or not she was safe, both also answering-without a word-that they didn't know. Stranger still was the fact that, in that one moment, in spite of everything-though Ella lightly dug her claws into Edmund's shoulders out of nervousness the whole time-they were also discovering that somehow or other they had become friends.

The funny thing was, Peter thought he knew, really _knew_ , out of a pure surge of instinct running through his veins, that this was the Coulter who was going to betray his beloved little sister. He felt as though he should hate this boy, this Edmund Coulter and his owl dæmon, but found that he couldn't. Of course, Lucy would still need to be protected at all costs, but the initial dislike, the one that should have been there from that first glance shared between the elder brother and the betrayer, was no where to be found.

Although the exchange seemed to last for hours, in reality it was only about four minutes or so before they were all led inside and Mrs. Coulter took Peter's arm, telling him how pleased she was to have him for a guest as they wandered down the long hallway (not the same one that Lucy had traveled down the day before). He was only half-listening, nodding politely whenever it seemed to fit, all the while thinking instead of his sister and of the two Coulter siblings.

Edmund and Susan looked alike with their pale complexions and dark hair, both having stunning dæmons that were beautiful in a startling sort of way. They didn't seem to look much like their mother-with the exception of Susan's blue eyes-and had evidently taken after their father-whoever he was. There was something likeable about the both of them, but something frightening and sobering as well-something not quite safe, not quite _right_. It was as if they kept a dark secret as an undercurrent of their personalities that followed and clung to them as devotedly as their dæmons did. It was the thought of Lucy getting hurt that bothered Peter the most though, he could excuse just about anything else as harmlessly eccentric.

Walking at Susan's heels as she followed her mother and Peter (Edmund trotting along a few paces behind, whispering back and forth with Ella) Maugrim snarled and growled unpleasantly; he was tired, cranky, and, unlike his mistress and her relatives, didn't actually have all that great an interest in the dæmonless boy. In all honesty, he was fairly certain that Susan was only feigning interest because she had taken a liking to this other-worldly lad personally, not because she was truly interested in the science of the matter. Part of him half-wanted to blurt it out and embarrass her but being her dæmon meant having a sense of loyalty to her. Besides, if she was publicly embarrassed, he would probably sense it and feel at least slightly mortified, too, so he said nothing.

A door was opened leading to a spare bedroom. It had a fair-sized bed in the middle along with a simply-made, unengraved oak-wood dresser and another door that slid to the side, revealing a small washroom. A nurse who had gotten there a minute or so before them, nodded and smoothed out an imaginary wrinkle on the bedspread before briefly explaining that she had left a change of clothing for their unexpected guest in the washroom. Then, with another nod, she excused herself and vanished down the hallway.

"I trust you'll find your stay here pleasant enough, there is a bell on your dresser to summon the servants if you need anything." said Mrs. Coulter, letting go of his arm and nudging him into the room as she waved vaguely in the direction of a tiny silver serving-bell perched on top of the dresser's knitted sky-blue doily. "All we ask is that you don't go wandering off the property by yourself, it's a very rural and vast area."

"Please, Mrs. Coulter," Peter said, glancing over at Susan for a moment even though it was not her was addressing. "I need to find my little sister, Lucy, she's...lost...sort of." He wasn't certain it was the best idea to ask the Coulters of all people in help with finding her, but else could he do? If he wasn't even allowed to go off on his own, he had to at least see to it that someone was out there looking for poor little Lucy.

"And she hasn't got a dæmon as well?" Mrs. Coulter looked very curious-almost greedy-at the notion of having two people of this remarkable sort safely tucked away at Bolvangar.

"No, mother," Edmund answered for Peter. "she has a dæmon called Reepicheep, I've met her."

She looked disappointed although still fairly contented about the way things were going. "Well, you needn't worry about your sister, Peter, there are plenty of people here to send out looking for her. Everything will be fine, I assure you." She reached for the doorknob while she was speaking, getting ready to close the door and leave him alone to change. "You will be informed the minute she is located."

"Thank you." Peter replied respectfully, feeling that once she was safely inside Bovangar with him, he would be able to watch over Lucy and avoid Lord Digory's fears.

Susan waved to him as the door shut; but Edmund looked away, discomfited and worried. Fear lined his dark eyes as he began to wonder what exactly had happened to the friend he had made only yesterday. To think of the little girl he'd shared Turkish Delight with wandering around in the snow was more than a little unpleasant. Worse still was knowing that her brother probably thought he was an ordinary guest in their home. In a way, he _was_. Then again, ordinary guests were generally allowed to come and go as they pleased, but they'd never let Peter leave-even if he wanted to. He'd have every luxury he might ask for and would still be little more than a prisoner. Of course, Edmund sometimes thought that he himself didn't have things much better, but the confinement to this place would be far worse for Lucy Pevensie's brother; knowing his mother, he felt pretty sure of that. Ella rubbed against her human consolingly; it was all she could think to do about the matter.

Dismissing all that he had seen, worn down and simply aching to change out of his damp clothing, Peter sighed and headed straight for the washroom. After he was cleaned up, he reached for the clothing. There were actually two sets left out. One was apparently day-clothes: a leather jerkin, black tights, and a dark gray shift. The other was night-clothes: a cotton, fur-lined sleeping shirt that came down to his calves, a royal-blue bathrobe, and soft deerskin slippers. He dressed quickly, wrapping the robe around himself after he'd slipped the shirt over his head, and tried not to wonder if the slippers had come from a reindeer that had once pulled a sleigh for the Coulters in the past.

Feeling hungry, he rang the silver bell and waited. Much to his surprise, it was Susan who came to him and asked if he needed anything, instead of a servant. Maugrim wore a ferocious scowl, baring his teeth and letting out occasional low growls, displeased that his mistress had made him come all this way instead of letting the servants do their jobs.

The food Susan brought was very rich and plentiful. There were at least three different kinds of cheese as well as, toasted bread, plum pudding, spicy sausage, bacon, pasta, sweet sausage, and a glass of orange juice to wash it all down with. She sat with him while he ate and talked to him for a while, ignoring Maugrim's constant eye-rolls and asking all sorts of questions. Often they seemed to be masked as borderline health-questions like how long he'd been without a dæmon and did he ever have this or that symptom, but it didn't take long at all before she dropped the subject completely and asked about his life in general.

Finding her easy to talk to, Peter ended up telling her pretty much everything except that Lucy wasn't actually blood-related to his family and that Lord Digory had said one of the Coulters would turn traitor. Some of the stories from his childhood that he shared made her laugh and he decided rather quickly it was a laugh he liked hearing. After a while he even started saying goofy, pointless things on purpose just to get a reaction out of her. For the most part, Susan seemed sensible, even a bit scornful when his statements got a little too silly, but she still had a good sense of humour all the same.

She would have stayed longer if Mrs. Coulter hadn't stuck her head into the room and told her that Peter needed his rest and that she really ought to call it a night. Maugrim gruffly muttered, "Finally!" under his breath; Susan acted like she hadn't heard him and even dragged out her goodbyes a bit just to vex her wolf-dæmon even more.

In spite of the fact that the room was quiet and peaceful, Peter didn't get much sleep that night; tossing and turning and waking up shaken from horrible dreams about Lucy lost in the snow, holding Reepicheep and crying. Morning couldn't come soon enough as far as he was concerned.


	10. The cut and save

It was Lucy's second morning waking up at the Experimental Station and so far, it didn't seem to differ from the first one in the least. She awoke at what felt like the same time as the day before, and then was promptly taken away by the same nurse all over again to get herself ready for breakfast.

While eating her scrambled eggs and gulping down a glass of ice-milk, Lucy leaned over her shoulder and looked both ways to make sure no one was standing close enough to hear what she was about to whisper to her dæmon. "I guess we might as well find a way to sneak off today, no point in trying to stay here any longer."

"Have you thought up a plan, then?" Reepicheep whispered back eagerly.

"Not exactly." Lucy admitted, watching carefully for the nurse who was refilling the children's milk glasses, uncertain of when she was going to refill hers. "I suppose we'll just have to crawl out the door of the playroom somehow and get down the hallway to those glass doors at the front of the building."

"And then what do we do?" Reepicheep crawled into her lap and looked up into his beloved human's face, yearning for the sort of comfort and reassurance that can be found only in the complete knowledge of a good plan.

"I suppose we'll just have to make our way back to the lamppost but-oh!" Lucy was suddenly stricken with a distressed expression; her face even twisted and Reepicheep thought for a fleeting moment that she was going to cry.

"Lucy, what is it? What's the matter?" he quickly shifted into the tiniest of all his mouse-shapes, a small white one little enough to rest in the palms of her hands.

"I've just realized something!" She exclaimed, her eyes widening. "We were asleep when the sleigh came and took us here-so we haven't any idea at all as to how far away we are from the lamppost right now. It might be only a mile, or it might be hundreds!"

"I suppose it's no use asking them about it," Reepicheep sighed, shifting back into a larger mouse (a brown one this time), his golden red-feathered band reappearing around one soft, tan-coloured ear.

"None at all." said Lucy brokenly, growing misty-eyed again. "You know they never tell us anything except that it's called the Experimental Station."

The nurse carrying the pitcher of milk came over to their place at the table, refilled Lucy's milk-glass, looked at her so intensely that the poor girl's heart near skipped a full beat from sheer terror ( _Did she suspect what they were talking about? Did she somehow know they meant to run away at the first chance they got?_ ), but then went on calmly-even humming a little-as if there was nothing to worry about. Her dæmon, a long-faced hound dog, wrinkled with a dreary sour expression on his face, waddled along side her, sticking closer to her toes than to her heels, not even giving Reepicheep so much as a half-glance rather like he expected his mistress to take care of all that.

"We need to find out more about this place, Reep." said Lucy at last, when she figured it was safe to breathe freely and talk to Reepicheep again.

"It really isn't dishonourable to eavesdrop if you're a captive, and I suppose _we_ are-it's not as if we wanted to come here to begin with." Reepicheep's tail twitched in an adventurous fashion.

"The question is, what can we do to make sure the nurses aren't looking at us?" Lucy mused, pushing her empty plate aside and shaking her head at the half-full second glass of milk which she didn't feel like drinking. "I don't think they'd just let us wander around simply because we wanted to."

"I wish they had remembered to give your leather pouch back." Reepicheep commented in a seemingly random manner.

"Why, Reepicheep!" Lucy gasped, laughing a little. "I always thought you hated it."

"Indeed I did," said Reepicheep, nodding somberly at his human. "but that was when I had to hide in it, when no one else was allowed to know about me. Now, though, I don't like the idea of you not having it to keep the Lord Professor's pocket watch safe in."

"We can get it on our way out, when we figure out how to go about it." Lucy told him.

They sat in silence for a few moments until Reepicheep suddenly climbed up Lucy's shoulder and whispered in her ear that most of the nurses seemed to be attending to a few of the younger children who had started crying. The sad thing was that a good number of them were probably sobbing for parents that, in all likelihood, judging by their far-too-lean, pinched faces, hadn't been able to afford them. The poor ragamuffins, these hopeless little street-urchins, probably had better food here at the Experimental Station than they had back home-and yet, they wept for home. They wailed over the loss of a home they barely seemed to have to begin with, too young to realize how wretched and alone they had been. This only added to Lucy's uneasiness and she found herself nearly desperate for the constant protection she'd once had around her at all times. She wanted her elder brother. She wanted Peter. He always knew how to make the scariest things seem like nothing, and at this moment, his disbelieving her about the wardrobe earlier didn't seem to matter at all. Because of her fear, she almost wished-though not quite-that she had never come back into this world. It felt right that she was in this world beyond the wardrobe after all, like she was meant to be here. Here where everyone had dæmons and things made sense, she felt as though she had come back to a place not unlike a pleasant somewhere she had perhaps visited when she was very, very small; but _not_ at the Experimental Station. That felt more like a prison than anything else.

As she made a quick-but quiet-dash for the door leading out into the hallway, Reepicheep clinging to her arm, she held the silver pocket watch tightly with both hands, and decided that if getting back to the lamppost was impossible, or as near to it as it needed to be to make the journey impossible for _her_ , she would find a map or get some other form of directions and get herself to that Bolvangar place. Edmund Coulter, she was fairly sure, would be willing to help her. He and Ella had been her friends, she'd liked them. There was no time to whisper her new plan to Reepicheep right way, however, because she had to carefully loosen her grip on the silver pocket watch with one hand so that she could open the door and slip out.

At first, she was afraid of someone catching sight of her and asking what she was doing wandering around like that, but after a while she started to relax. There didn't appear to be anybody in the hallway at the moment with the exception of one very short, red-bearded man (dwarf, actually, but Lucy's glimpse of him was too fleeting for her to make that distinction) with no dæmon, carrying something that looked like a breakfast tray. He didn't seem to even _notice_ Lucy and Reepicheep standing there pressed up against the wall, praying he wouldn't grab them and drag them back to the nurses. If Lucy had known who the dwarf was a manservant to, she would have been ecstatic and asked _him_ for help.

As it was, she just had to keep going. Eventually, she came across a door she recognized as the one leading to the room she had changed her clothing in when she'd first arrived. It would be delightful to have her old clothes back; especially the Lord Professor's fur coat and her leather pouch. Turning the knob, she strolled inside. The room was darker than she remembered because none of the over-head lights were on, and only one of the smallest lamps in the far corner was lit, casting a dim glow that only went about two and a half feet away from its source. There didn't seem to be much to look at anyway; only a few thick curtains, no longer hung up, folded neatly on a metal bench and about three or four metallic-blue metal bins full of things like dirty clothes and stained rag dolls. It took a great deal of digging, but in the end, Lucy unearthed her dress, coat, and pouch from the middle of a laundry bin that evidently hadn't been taken away to be washed yet.

"We've got your things now, let's get out of here." Reepicheep's fur stood up on his back like the quills of a porcupine in danger, sensing something amiss.

The fur coat had dried funny and felt stiff as Lucy tossed it over her arm, reaching over to place the pocket watch back into the pouch-which she quickly strapped around her waist, glad enough of having it back even if it had dried a darker, less attractive shade of brown (she had never been one to care much about things of that sort anyway). "Alright, we'll go-but we have to find a map or something of the sort."

"What for?" he still seemed very tense, but curiosity softened his fur up a bit.

"We're going to Bolvangar-to find Edmund and Ella, they'll help us." Lucy explained quickly, taking a step back as if sensing some mysterious horror before it actually struck her.

Not three seconds later, it struck; more horrible than lighting, and it seemed to their nervous ears, louder than thunder. It was the sound of feet coming closer and closer to the door and then the sight of the knob turning. Thinking quickly, Lucy dived into the laundry bin, pulling the fur coat over her head. Reepicheep-hiding with her-shifted into a dark-coloured bandicoot, having less chance of being spotted as a drab lump than in some of his more striking, noticeable forms.

Peeking up from her place, Lucy could just barely make out the tall figures of two staff workers-a man and a woman-dressed all in white whom appeared to be both servants and nurses of some kind. The man's dæmon was a puce-coloured snake, slithering on the floor, wrapping itself around his legs occasionally. From Lucy's position, it looked like a thin, dirty stream running up and down his lower limbs. She held her breath and listened carefully as they moved around the room, hoping they did not intend to stay long.

The woman, straightening out her white bonnet and capturing a stray flap that had probably once been a pretty, red-gold ringlet before she forced it flat, and tucking it back in place, turned to the man and said, "So, did you hear what the others were saying about the Scrubb boy?" Her dæmon, a large, furry-legged, black spider, crawled down from her shoulder, onto the near-by metal bench.

"Yes, I heard something of the kind," the man answered. "Is it true, then? Has the lad... _expired_...?"

Reepicheep, horrified, whisper-exclaimed, "They're talking about Jill and Isi's friend!"

Lucy turned to face him and put her finger to her lips, warning him to keep quiet, they certainly would have it no better being discovered _now_.

The woman shook her head, not as if to say no, but in a sad, disappointed way, the sort of expression most people wear when their friends say their cat is unwell. "Yes, he's gone...held on for a little while, though."

"What went wrong this time?" the man wanted to know.

"Well," said the woman, reaching over and rummaging through some garments in one of the laundry bins (not Lucy's hiding place). "they weren't sure...at first...but it seems to be fixed now, apparently."

"Ah," the man nodded agreeably. "that's good. But of course a new child must be operated on, if the Scrubb boy's gone."

"It isn't as if he mattered much, poor thing." the woman shrugged her shoulders, somewhat indifferently but not cruelly so. "His parents, Alberta and Harold, I think their names were, barely took care of him-he didn't even want to go back with them. He befriended one of the orphan girls here and wanted to go where ever she went."

"It was all for the best after all, I suppose. That he was sacrificed in the interest of such a noble cause."

Lucy thought she was going to be sick. What had they done to Eustace? Was he really dead? Poor Jill! This whole nightmare had to be related to that operation the children were supposed to get. Something must have gone terribly wrong when they did it to him-and he... _died_. What was worse was that they didn't seem to care; it was like he was just a lab-rat or a friendly, but not particularly loved, dog. A child had died and they were acting as though it didn't matter, as if it were something that happened all the time.

"His dæmon is gone, too, I'd expect?" The man raised an eyebrow at the woman curiously, eagerly awaiting her response.

"Oh, of course it is!"

"What form did it die in?"

"Don't know, after it was cut away-"

The woman was still talking, but Lucy heard no more. Her ears stopped working after the words, 'cut away'. Were they really saying that they had cut away Eustace Scrubb's dæmon? His heart and soul torn mercilessly from him as simply as cutting a page out of a catalogue with a pair of scissors? Lucy felt her head get lighter and her body sway. The notion of 'cutting' was sick and wrong. How _could_ they? And then just plan to do it to someone else now that his poor little dæmonless body was of no more use to them?

"Dust is all we've got of the dæmon now, just dust, nothing more and nothing less." the woman sighed airily, shaking out a child's soiled plaid skirt.

No longer able to endure it, Lucy's stomach heaved, vomiting out her breakfast all over the inside of the bin, accidentally knocking it over. Everything tumbled out, herself and Reepicheep included. They were almost at once hidden by the avalanche of laundry, and would have likely not been caught if only Lucy's foot hadn't stuck out from under the massive pile.

The man grabbed hold of it at once and pulled her out. "How did this one get in here?"

"Let me go!" Lucy cried, her plea falling on deaf ears.

"What did you hear?" the woman demanded crossly, placing her hands on her hips; none of that pretend-sweetness now.

"You killed that little boy!" Reepicheep accused them, shifting back into his noblest mouse-form and waving his sword at them. "You're murderers! You all ought to have your throats slit!"

"Can't have this one-" the man glared at Lucy, holding onto her arm with the death-grip of a pit-bull. "-telling such horrible tall-tales to the others, it would just cause trouble."

Lucy couldn't believe them; they were cutting away children's dæmons-innocent, helpless children and their sweet, beloved shape-shifting souls-and _her_ panic would case trouble? It was too awful to bear! Too insensitive to imagine, too bitter to swallow, too evil to comprehend.

The nurse strolled over to Reepicheep and picked him up with far too much ease for Lucy's eyes to take in. She was _touching_ Reepicheep! Holding him so tightly he couldn't move-scarcely even breathe! The traumatizing memory of the time children in the world she'd grown up in had unwittingly grabbed her Reep, thinking him to be a pet, flashed back in her mind and all at once, Lucy couldn't stop crying and screaming.

She tried to get free but the man held onto her waist, lifting her up with one arm, clamping the other over her mouth. Of course Lucy wasted no time in biting him, just as Peter had always told her she ought to do if someone ever tried to kidnap her in such a fashion, but the man was too strong for it to cause enough pain. He did wince slightly, but that was it. Reepicheep bit the woman, very hard. He didn't care that she was a female, in spite of his never-ending notions of honour. The woman was a murderess after all-and she had willingly touched another person's dæmon-the rules changed in these kind of circumstances.

The door was opened by another white-clad staff member who had come seemingly out of no where, and Lucy and her dæmon were taken down the hall, no mercy being shown as they turned down a corner into another room Lucy had never seen before.

To say it was a dreadful room would be an insult to dreadful rooms everywhere. For even the grimmest of places had never seemed, to Lucy, or to anyone else in her current position, quite this horrid. It was a laboratory of sorts, she supposed, all white and pale, pale blue in colour with a few test-tubes and knobs and other odd-looking things placed about in a very neat fashion. In the middle of the room was a curved black box-or at least, that's what it resembled more than anything else-with a kind of wire fencing material in its center, divided like two separate chambers.

Reepicheep was put on one side; Lucy, on the other. Then, before she could attempt to kick at the man placing her down and make her escape, another part of the fence-wire was brought down on both sides to lock them in. Out of the corner of his eye, Reepicheep noticed a nurse edging ever closer to something that looked like controllers.

"Lucy!" he cried out, realizing what this must be, only hoping he hadn't made his discovery too late. " _This_ is the operation!" A tear ran down the side of his face as he shifted into one of his most beautiful forms, one he knew his mistress loved dearly, a little red panda with a doe-white face save for some scattered brown markings. "They're going to cut us apart!"

"Never!" shouted Lucy, slamming her wrists against the fencing as if she was attempting to reach through it and grab her darling Reepicheep, bringing him close to her again. "They'll never keep us apart, Reep!"

"Lucy." Reepicheep's paw pressed against the fencing on his side to bid her what might just be a real goodbye, one more painful than either of them could have ever imagined.

"Calm down, it shan't hurt you too much-it's for your own good." a nurse told her in a voice she assumed was meant to be soothing although it was anything but.

 _How can taking away my dæmon, my soul, my Reepicheep, my dear one, my life and breath, possibly be for 'my own good'?_ The tears were flying down from Lucy's eyes like a rainstorm now. They couldn't take away her Reepicheep! It wasn't so much the thought that she might die, just like Eustace Scrubb had, as the knowledge that she would lose Reep-maybe forever-that broke her heart in two. What good was life without her dæmon; nothing more than a zombie-like existence. It wouldn't be for her like it was for Peter, who'd never had a dæmon; he never felt like half of him was missing. And yet, Lucy would feel like that for the rest of her life (however long or short it would be) if they did this to her. If they cut him away.

"Sweet child," another nurse cooed. "don't you want to be a brave big girl while-"

"No!" Lucy screamed, at the end of her sanity and endurance, trying to slap at the woman through the fencing. "I want my Reepicheep! You wont take him from me! You wont! You wont!"

She ignored her and went on, "Don't you want to grow up?"

Lucy only cried and scowled some more wishing she could break free and rip the nasty, heartless woman's hair out for trying to do this to her. Any sweetness Lucy usually had was replaced by cold, frighteningly intense fear and hatred, emotions she wasn't used to and didn't like experiencing. For one terrible second she thought maybe that was what it meant to grow up, to feel this broken and scared all the time-how ghastly!

"We're doing this to help you grow up."

She felt her jaw drop, thinking of Edmund and what he had said about his mother 'helping children to grow up'. Worse still was the moment when she suddenly recalled what he had said about seeing a human cut away from their dæmon. It couldn't be! It _couldn't_! Was it possible that _this (_ the Experimental Station) had been Bolvangar all along without her knowing it? That Edmund's mother was behind this cruel operation?

The separation chamber that was going to tear the bond between Lucy and Reepicheep apart for ever and ever suddenly clicked on at one of the nurse's biddings. A blue blade made entirely of electric light started to slowly flash down the middle fencing that separated Lucy and Reepicheep. Both could feel the cutting, the loss of breath, the pain so severe it was as though their necks were being slit while the other was forced to watch. The light came lower and lower, slowly tearing them apart.

It was almost to the bottom and Lucy thought she would surely die long before it was even completed-deeply admiring Eustace for holding out as long as he had-when suddenly the door swung open and a familiar voice gasped, "Hey, who is that?"

Lucy forced her tired eyelids which had been trying to close-to block out all the horror of her situation-open so that she could see who the speaker was. She recognized him: a dark-haired boy with an owl dæmon perched on his left shoulder. It was Edmund Coulter in the flesh.

"Lucy!" she heard him cry out in an agitated tone, quickly turning around and barking at the staff to stop the blade at once.

Racing forward, he flung the fencing open and put his hand on Lucy's arm. It was cold, trembling violently, and he could hear her sniffling and hyperventilating from the shock of it all. She was shaken to bits but she wasn't separated from her dæmon. She was still a full person; the operation hadn't been completed-thank goodness.

"Reepicheep..." Lucy murmured, wondering through half-closed eyelids if she would be left asking after him for the rest of her life. If they would never be together again.

Feeling frightened for her, Edmund raced over to Reepicheep's side of the chamber and reached in with his bare hands.

"Edmund, don't!" Ella pleaded with him, knowing how wrong it was supposed to be to touch someone else's dæmon. They had seen people do it before-and much more than just that, too-but that didn't mean the owl was comfortable with her own human touching Lucy Pevensie's Reepicheep like that.

Shaking his head, never fully taking his eyes off of Lucy, Edmund ignored his dæmon, knowing what he had to do-he had to do it for _her_ , for poor hurt, scared little Lucy. He gently scooped up the soft-as-velvet red panda and held him as though he was made of easily-broken crystal glass. Feeling his touch through her dæmon was Lucy's first reassurance that she was still whole, but however greatly it relieved her, she still felt sick, weak, and violated. What she did vaguely notice however, was that Edmund's handling of Reepicheep didn't hurt, it was so caring and tender that she almost liked it.

Ever so gently, Edmund placed the dæmon into Lucy's lap as carefully as a mother cat puts down her kitten. Reepicheep clung to his human desperately, shifting back into a mouse and vowing never to let go-never, never, never! His mistress didn't hear the last 'never' he uttered however; she fainted, falling out of the open chamber, into Edmund's arms.


	11. The seeds of doubt

The world that had been so noisy and terrifying when Lucy had slipped out of it, into the thought-free darkness of her own mind, was almost completely silent as she slowly started to regain consciousness. The only sound she could hear and put a name to was that of a grandfather clock ticking from somewhere nearby. She could feel that she was laid out on something soft and that there were warm blankets and sheets piled on top of her. The feel of her smock and shift were gone, too, replaced instead by a lacy child's nightgown made of a much finer cloth. The sleeves were long and smooth, and she could feel their filmy tips tickling the back of her hands. As her eyes began to blink open, they locked with a rose-coloured dressing-gown hung on the upper right post of the bed she was lying on; it had little red flowers embroidered around the edges.

Reepicheep! She thought fearfully as it all came flooding back to her-the whole terrible scene of the nurses trying to cut him away for ever. But the mouse was there, beside her, clinging to her chest as if to ensure nothing would get in-between them.

"Oh, Reep!" her slightly-hoarse little voice whimpered as she threw her arms around her dæmon, embracing him with all her might. "We're still together."

"Lucy!" a deeply relieved voice exclaimed. "You're alright!"

Rolling over to locate the speaker, Lucy found herself face-to-face with a golden monkey who was perched on the side of her bed, leering at her with a pensive expression on his sleek face. Startled, she let out a yelp and scooted a little further under the covers for protection. Reepicheep let go of her, shifted into a thick-set porcupine and snarled at the monkey, who he knew at once to be a dæmon like he himself was and not an ordinary animal, threateningly.

This monkey-dæmon, Lucy realized now, was not the speaker she had just heard; Edmund was sitting at the edge of her bed with Ella perched on one of the lower wooden posts beside him, watching her previously sleeping-form anxiously. The leering monkey belonged to a beautiful blonde woman sitting in a chair by the door. She, too, had been watching Lucy sleep.

Edmund rushed forward and, quite unexpectedly, gave Lucy a hug. "I was starting to worry you weren't going to wake up at all." he murmured into her ear, pulling away as he spoke. Ella flew forward and gave Reepicheep a gentle nudge as if to welcome him back, happy to see him in a conscious state as well.

"Are you feeling better, darling?" the beautiful woman stood up and placed a smooth, long-fingered, perfectly manicured hand on her shoulder. "You're very fortunate my son found you when he did."

Something about this lady, nice as she acted, made Lucy's skin crawl. Her 'kindness' was probably just as fake as that of the nurses who cut away kid's dæmons, she was just a much better actress. Whereas Edmund's owl made him seem wise, all that golden monkey seemed was sly and slippery-as if he could have just as easily been a golden snake. Perhaps that was one of the forms he might have shape-shifted into when his mistress was a little girl and he wasn't yet settled.

"You wont take Reepicheep from me." said Lucy in as cold and firm a tone she could manage with her shaky voice.

"What was that, sweetheart?" Mrs. Coulter's fair nearly-alabaster brow crinkled prettily and her perfect lips pursed into a puzzled pout. "Take your dæmon away?" Her eyelids closed and she shuddered slightly. "Of course not! Why would you think anyone was going to do that?"

"Because they tried to cut us apart!" Reepicheep burst out, shifting back into a mouse and putting his paw on the hilt of his sword. "They were going to-"

"Who's 'they'?" Mrs. Coulter asked gently, shaking her head in faux-confusion. "I don't know who you mean, child."

"The nurses..." Lucy felt tears come up into her eyes all over again as she replayed the memory in her mind. "...they grabbed me in the room with the laundry bins and-" She couldn't finish speaking, she started to shiver and hiccup at the same time, her sobs worsening.

"Shh..." Mrs. Coulter started rubbing Lucy's arms consolingly. "Poor dear, everything's fine...you cry, it's okay, go ahead." The golden monkey reached over to pat Reepicheep on the head but the mouse became smaller and backed away before he could make contact. This was not at all Reepicheep's usual way of dealing with scary situations, and Lucy felt even more shaken watching this exchange out of the corner of her eye.

"The nurses cut away children's dæmons." Sobbed Lucy. "They did it to a boy named Eustace Scrubb and...others...I think...I don't know their names, though."

"Nonsense, sweetheart, that's not what happened at all." Mrs. Coulter told her, letting go of her arms and patting one of her hands. "It's all been a bad dream."

"No it wasn't!" Lucy bawled inconsolably. "It wasn't! They would've taken him away if Edmund hadn't come and told them to stop-they _would_ have!"

"There are nurses here, but they don't do anything like that, Lucy." said Mrs. Coulter in a firm, yet soft tone of voice. "You don't know what you're talking about, you were cold and confused."

"I saw everything!" Lucy insisted, still crying to herself.

"You _think_ you did." Mrs. Coulter told her. "That's what happens when you're lost in the snow, you have hallucinations and see things that aren't real and when you wake up, you don't realize it was all just a bad, bad dream."

Nothing else for it, Lucy turned to Edmund who hadn't spoken at all since his mother had started, knowing he could vouch for her. "Edmund, you were there, you made them stop, tell her its the truth. That I know all about-"

"Of course he was there," Mrs. Coulter cut her off. "he's the one who saved you. He found you in a snowdrift and carried you here."

"No, some men in sleighs picked me up and brought me here." Lucy insisted stubbornly. "I remember, there were other children there, too."

"No," Mrs. Coulter smiled and shook her head. "That was only part of your dream, I'd suppose. What really happened was that Edmund found you near death and brought you here."

"That's not true!" Lucy cried, all but completely losing it at this point. "The men brought me here and the nurses made me change into a smock."

"Smock?" a faint bell-like laugh tinkled from the center of Mrs. Coulter's throat. "No, you weren't given any smock, only that nightgown, it used to belong to my daughter when she was your age. It's a bit big on you, but it looks very nice. I helped you change when you were still passed out from cold."

"Edmund," Lucy's voice cracked, fighting back any remaining sobs. "tell her that's not _true_ , I know it's not what happened."

"Edmund, child, tell the poor girl," Mrs. Coulter turned away from Lucy to look directly into her son's eyes. "Did it or did it not happen like I say it did? Wasn't it that you found her alone in the snow?"

He squirmed under her tight gaze and looked back and forth from his mother to Lucy. "Yeah, that's what happened," he lied. "I found her in the snow and brought her back here-just like you said, mother."

"What?" Lucy's brows furrowed disbelievingly. How could Edmund have just said something like that? He knew about the children getting cut away from their dæmons; he'd told her so himself when they met! And to just lie so easily, with only a faint hesitation, was shocking to Lucy's truthful nature. She knew-had known, even-that Edmund was a boy of justice deep down in his core, and yet, he lied now. Not only had he lied, but he had made it sound like it could almost be true if she didn't know any better. Of course, people lost in the snow, alone and lost as she had been thought they heard and saw things that never really happened, but she hadn't been hallucinating when they had walked to Tumnus's house together. All of the things they had talked about then had to be real-and it made perfect sense after what she had heard and seen recently. Or it would have, if only Mrs. Coulter and Edmund weren't insisting she was mistaken so earnestly that she might almost doubt herself a little bit.

"Lucy," Edmund closed his eyes and then opened them again. "you were lost and I brought you here, that's what really happened, okay?"

She opened her mouth to protest but before she could say anything, the door to the room they were in (which she suddenly realized was a very nice one, with a velvet-like carpet on the floor and pretty lily-pad wallpaper lining the middle of the walls) opened and another lady walked in.

This lady was without a doubt the most beautiful person Lucy had ever seen; her face even more striking than that of Mrs. Coulter. She was young, perhaps a year or so Peter's junior, with long dark hair, skin the same colour as Edmund's, and blue eyes like that of his mother.

"Who's the little girl?" she asked, shutting the door behind her.

"It's Peter's little sister, the one he was looking for." Edmund explained shortly. "Lucy Pevensie."

"Oh, hello there," she smiled and extended her hand to Lucy. "I'm Susan Coulter." A faint growl from near-by Susan's legs made Lucy jump, and Maugrim placed his paws on the side of the bed as if to get a good, unnerving look at Reepicheep. Not so intimated by this wolf as he was by the golden monkey for some reason, he shifted into a sleek, velvety black cat and flicked his tail warningly until Maugrim got the message and put his paws back on the carpet.

"Susan," Mrs. Coulter ordered coolly. "go to Peter; tell him that his sister has been found, and that she is well."

"Yes, Mother." Susan nodded and left the room, Maugrim following at her heels.

Suddenly it dawned on Lucy that they were talking about Peter as if he were in the building waiting for her; as if he was going to come right on in and see her. Overjoyed at the thought of seeing her brother again, regaining the protection she had felt lost without, Lucy almost _wanted_ to believe they were telling the truth about Edmund finding her in a snowdrift. If it had all been a dream; Jill Pole and Isi, Eustace Scrubb, the nurses with their cutting chamber, then there would be nothing to be afraid of anymore and everything would be all right. How terrible it was that it _couldn't_ be true...and yet...if it were...if only it were...

Less than six minutes later the door flung open again this time with Peter standing there, Susan and a cranky-looking Maugrim panting just behind him. Without waiting to be welcomed in, he charged into the room, raced over to Lucy and flung his arms around her, squeezing her and crying, and tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.

"Lucy, I was so worried!" he pulled away slightly, still clinging to her waist as though he was scared that if he let her go completely she would vanish and be lost all over again. "Where have you been?"

"Edmund found her in a snowdrift." Mrs. Coulter answered before Lucy could say anything about the operation she was almost forced into. "She's quite alright now except for being a little dazed and confused."

Reepicheep rubbed his black cat-head against the side of Peter's left upper leg. Although Reepicheep very rarely touched any human that wasn't his own little Lucy-and the exceptions had never been anyone else besides Peter-he broke the general rule to show his relief. Like Lucy, he also felt safer with when Peter was there with them.

"The poor little thing actually thought someone tried to take Reepicheep away from her-we've had the hardest time trying to explain that no one would _dream_ of doing such a thing." Mrs. Coulter went on, shaking her head sympathetically. "I'm sure she'll feel better now that you're here to take care of her."

Lucy leaned her head on Peter's shoulder and reached for his hand, knowing he would protect her. She wished once more that Lord Digory hadn't told her to keep the silver pocket watch a secret from him, so that she could show it to him and-oh no! Where was the pocket watch? The leather pouch was no longer strapped to her waist; she felt around the entire bed for it, groping like a blind person, desperate to find it.

"My pouch," she said finally, looking nervously at Mrs. Coulter because she was the one who claimed to have helped her change clothes. "where is it?"

"Not to worry, honey, not to worry." Mrs. Coulter smiled broadly and stood up, walking over to a chair where a fur coat had been haphazardly tossed over the seat. Lifting it up, she revealed the pouch. "See? It's right here, and you can come and take it whenever you want."

Sensing his little sister's longing to have it back, however little he understood it, Peter got up and plucked it off the chair, handing it to her. "It'll be alright, Lu, we're safe here." In the same way he kept the fact that their father was going to enlist in the army back home to himself, so as to protect her, he didn't breathe a word of the supposed 'Coulter betrayal' to her. There were some things, he decided, that little eight year old girls couldn't bear knowing.

But we're not really safe at all, they do horrible things at this place, Lucy thought; feeling the pouch to make sure the watch was still in there-it was.

"Come, Edmund," said Mrs. Coulter, standing up as her golden monkey climbed her right arm. "we'll leave them to catch up for now and send someone with some supper for them later."

He said goodbye to Lucy, looked warily at Peter wondering if he possibly suspected the truth about what had really happened to his little sister earlier-though it seemed impossible, and obediently turned to leave. Ella flapped her wings awkwardly four times in a row before getting up and flying after him, well aware of Reepicheep's steady currently feline gaze on her, silently urging her to tell the truth she and her master were not allowed to speak of.

"You, too, Susan." Mrs. Coulter motioned for her daughter to come along with them. "We'll be having our own supper in the dinning hall and you'll both need to freshen up a bit first."

Susan smiled shyly at Peter, getting his attention for a split second much as he was still focused on Lucy, and then quickly looked away when she knew he was smiling back. Maugrim was disgusted with his mistress; she was borderline flirting with her mother's recent scientific find-what could be more appalling and unseemly than that?

In all honesty, Susan wasn't sure she felt comfortable taking as much pleasure as she did from the dæmonless boy, but she couldn't help it. Besides, it was harmless; her mother was the one who had taught her to be charming to guests, and to flirt and make her presence known. People who knew her said she could have charmed the poison out of a snake and have gotten its fangs thrown into the deal for free. She was used to being admired-as was Mrs. Coulter-and didn't think anything too unpleasant could result from any admiration she might draw from Peter.

Edmund didn't notice his sister and her dæmon's wordless little spat of displeasure, he was too busy feeling guilty about what they were doing to Lucy. Keeping her and her brother captive here and playing these mind-games with her. As if she didn't already know the truth! But he had to help sow the seeds of doubt in her mind; he didn't disobey his mother, he knew better than that. He only wondered if it would work; Lucy was a pretty trusting person with a very honourable dæmon, but would she really fall for his mother's set up? Or would she keep on believing in what she had really heard and seen? He wasn't sure, but he felt that, one way or another, he was going to find out.

As for Lucy herself, it would be fair enough to say that she held out for as long as possible, knowing what she knew and believing it with all her might, but the seeds of doubt had been sown all the same. And, like weeds, they were determined to grow and choke anything that would dare try to hinder them.


	12. Chess, alethiometers, Dust, and pain

Mrs. Coulter had told Edmund to keep Lucy amused (because they very well couldn't put her in with the other children any longer and still keep the theory that she had imagined the 'cutting' operation going), but he probably would have spent time with her anyway, completely unbidden. It wasn't only that he liked her company; it was largely that he liked company in general.

Though there had been many a time when Bolvangar was teaming with dozens and dozens of children fairly close to his own age, Edmund willed himself not to get attached to any of them, knowing that they were essentially lab-rats when all was said and done. What was the point of befriending someone when you knew that they could end up zombie-like and dazed, or even dead? Not to mention there was a good chance the other children wouldn't have liked him anyway-what with his early-settled dæmon and his mother who they alternatively feared and admired by turn-so of course he'd shied away from making any form of contact with them. He took care never to learn their names or what they called their dæmons. In truth, he hated seeing the effects of the operation his mother's scientists were struggling to perfect even on unknown children. To see it on someone he knew felt like being stabbed in the heart over and over again. Goodness knows he had nearly had a meltdown when Lucy and Reepicheep were almost cut apart.

The first time he had seen the effects of the operation with his own eyes was when he was about five or six years old and Mrs. Coulter's experiments had been in their early stages. Back then, there was no chamber and the nurses cut them apart by forcibly grabbing a child's dæmon and holding the child back while they tried to take it as far away from him or her as possible. It was bone-chilling to hear the bloodcurdling screams that came from the child until a hand was placed over their mouth. Edmund had unintentionally wandered into the room they'd placed the most recent patient in-mistakenly thinking that the child was dead. He was pretty near to it, ghostly pale and thoroughly unresponsive at any rate, but not quite. He lived long enough to open his eyes and look straight at Edmund for a full heartbreaking minute and his lips trembled with the faintest trace of the name, 'Lina'. Edmund knew, without being told, who 'Lina' must have been. Not that he had any real time to reflect on it before he threw up on the floor a few feet away from the half-boy's cot, but still. Ella, who had still been able to shape-shift in those days, became a white-and-black wolf and howled in mourning for the child and Lina his dæmon.

Since that day, Edmund had struggled to desensitize himself to cutting (or as his mother called it, 'Inercision') and though he was to the point of even coming and watching the operations first hand (they were a little less savage now if nothing else), part of him still felt the urge to throw up.

That was one reason he had loved playing with his little half-sister Lyra when they lived close enough to Jordan College for him to visit her. Not only did she not know who he really was (he only ever told her to call him 'Ed' not even giving her his full first name), but he knew for certain that she'd never be cut away from her dæmon, Pantalaimon, because their mother would never allow her own flesh and blood to go through something like that. Lyra wasn't like Susan who cared only for nylons and lipsticks and going to parties; she actually got her feet dirty and freely consented to playing tig in tall wheat felids.

Since Mrs. Coulter had moved them to the north, he had been rather lonely with no one close to his own age to play with, having to content himself with Ella's company which got to be very much like simply taking to one's self after a while. Now that Lucy was here, however, it was as if his whole life had changed overnight. She would never be put through that operation again because of Peter's dæmonless state. Mrs. Coulter wouldn't want her most exciting find to get frightened and angry over the loss of his sister and attempt to run away; he would need to be humoured, and that meant keeping Lucy safe and well. And it meant a companion for Edmund.

Although Edmund would have very much liked to be friends with Peter-and in a strange way he did consider them friends when push came to shove, realizing they had a bond over Lucy herself if nothing else from the first moment they met-he felt guilty every time they locked eyes for more than a half-minute as though he had done-or would do-something wrong. Also, the fact that Peter had no dæmon made him think of all those who had been cut away from their souls, whom he had been unable to help. It was as if Peter were the physical manifestation of all the lost children Edmund had seen in his lifetime, and more often than not, the urge to vomit returned stronger than ever before.

Lucy was easier than her brother; in some ways, she was very like Lyra, though extremely different in many others. At any rate, her innocence made her fun because it made him feel sort of innocent, too; something he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

All Edmund had had to do was to arrive in her bedroom the next morning with a golden chess set (it had belonged to his father and, quite frankly, his mother didn't care anything about it anymore in spite of its monetary value) and ask if she knew how to play. Reepicheep-in the mouse from he took most often-scowled at him, but Lucy admitted that Peter had taught her how on her seventh birthday.

"Are those real?" Reepicheep asked as Edmund set up the solid-gold, ruby-encrusted pieces on the crystal-glass board.

"Probably." Edmund shrugged his shoulders and put the last glittering pawn in place. "It belonged to my father-he was a wealthy politician."

Lucy realized then that while she knew a bit about his mother, Mrs. Coulter, she hadn't learned anything about his father yet. "Where is your father, Edmund?"

"Dead," his tone became instantly stiff, less friendly, and far more monosyllabic. Ella twisted her head around all the way and ruffled her feathers in an uncomfortable fashion.

Reepicheep winced in pity and Lucy wished she hadn't asked. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"It's nothing for you to be sorry about, you didn't make him an idiot." Edmund mumbled, forgetting himself for a moment until Ella clanked her beak and gave him a sharp nudge.

Lucy knew there was probably a lot more to it than Edmund was willing to tell her at the moment, but she wasn't about to press him, even if he had lied to her face about the cutting operation (It _had_ been a lie, hadn't it?); she could see how much pain talking about it caused him.

"So do you want to go first, or should I?" Edmund changed the subject, motioning down at the chess board.

"I'll go." Lucy decided, moving a pawn.

Edmund nodded, waited a moment, then moved one of his own pawns when she was done. "Your turn again."

"This is fun." she said quietly, moving her king one square over.

"Yeah, it is." Edmund agreed, moving another pawn while he spoke.

The thing about playing chess with dæmons present is that they are for ever whispering advice to their humans during the entire game, and because they are one, it is not considered cheating. So the game went on with Ella squinting her big owl-eyes at the pieces and whispering what she thought was the best move for Edmund to make, and Reepicheep excitedly nudging Lucy's arm by turn when he thought they were close to winning. In the end, Reepicheep's eagerness ended up losing at least half of the games for his human because he would forget it was a game and start suggesting that she move the pieces as though it were a real battle. Also, he would-sometimes-get too honourable and refuse to capture Edmund's queen because it wasn't seemly for a noblewoman to be kidnapped over a war.

"Reep, it's not a real battle, you know that, right?" Lucy whispered to him after they lost for the third time in a row.

"Of course," said Reepicheep, struggling to keep a dignified look on his face while Ella twisted her beak into a funny bent-horn shape, trying not to laugh at him.

A new thought came to Edmund's mind, one he had wondered about but hadn't really gotten a chance to ask. "Lucy, that pouch you were so worried about when you woke up...what was in it?"

Lucy stared at him for a moment, wondering if she could trust him. She knew she wasn't supposed to show the silver pocket watch to anyone-not even to Peter-but she had something of an idea that Edmund might actually know what it really was-though she wasn't sure how that was possible.

"Don't show it to him." Reepicheep hissed, not unkindly, knowing what she was considering.

"You...you wouldn't tell anyone...if..." Lucy stammered, peering up directly into Edmund's eyes, as if silently trying to gain his loyalty. "If I showed you something secret, would you?"

Ella looked insulted; but it was Edmund who exclaimed, "Of course not!"

"I think I can trust you..." Lucy mused.

"Fine, don't listen to me." Reepicheep muttered under his breath, shaking his head at his human.

"It's just that I promised someone...a friend, you see...that I wouldn't tell anyone about it...but I don't really understand it." she looked almost wistful for a moment as she stood up and reached for the pouch.

Just because Edmund had lied about the cutting (if it wasn't really a dream like Mrs. Coulter said), didn't mean he couldn't be trusted, Lucy decided, lifting up the pouch's opening flap and slowly removing the round, silver object.

"Oh!" said Edmund when he saw it, looking impressed but not terribly surprised. "A pocket watch?"

"That's what I call it," Lucy admitted. "but I don't know if that's what it really is. I've been thinking of it as more of a compass, but even then..." Her voice trailed off as she opened it.

Now Edmund's eyes widened and he looked taken aback. "Wow, you're right, Lu, it's not a watch."

"Do you know what it is?" her voice was eager.

Edmund shook his head. "Not exactly, but it does remind me a little of..." He paused and looked both ways. "...of an alethiometer."

The word sounded important, beautiful, enchanting, and dangerous all at once, even though Lucy hadn't the faintest idea what it meant. "An alethiometer? What's that?"

Edmund's face went a little red. "I'm not actually supposed to know anything about alethiometers, because it's something to do with Dust, and mother says I shouldn't speak of such things even if I don't know for sure what they are. I only know a little from something mother told me once, and from the time I hid in a wardrobe during a business meeting she had two years ago." A small smile crept up onto his face. "It's amazing the discoveries you can make just hiding in a wardrobe."

Lucy giggled, "Tell me about it."

"Well, anyway, an alethiometer's like a sort of truth measure, I don't know exactly how it works or what use it is, but that's what the man said. But it works by Dust, so it isn't supposed to be good-it's evil, or something like that."

"What do you mean by Dust?" Reepicheep wanted to know. "You mean the stuff from the ground?"

"I don't think so..." Edmund said uncertainly. "...but it's supposed to be bad, it does something to people and makes them have all kinds of nasty thoughts."

"I don't understand." said Lucy.

"Well, neither do I, but mother says it's bad."

"Did she ever tell you anything else about it?" Lucy asked, shifting a little in her chair, wondering what all this had to do with her pocket watch.

"Except that it was something I shouldn't talk about? Just that children don't have it until their dæmons settle." Edmund looked over at Ella as if mourning something; fearing it, even. "I have Dust, I think." Glancing at Lucy he added, "You don't."

"But what's that got to do with the pocket watch?"

"Well, from what I heard, an alethiometer is made of gold and has pictures-symbols of a sort-all around the edges." he made sure to keep his voice as low as possible. "Your compass-watch, whatever you want to call it, is made of silver and has, not pictures, but something like letters around it. Other than those two differences, I get the idea that they're very alike."

"Have you ever seen an alethiometer?"

"No," Edmund said, chuckling lightly. "the Master of Jordan College is supposed to have one that he refuses to give up. Mother's angry that he wont because it isn't really his-or else there's some other scandal about it."

Cradling the watch in her hands as if it were an injured baby bird, Lucy wondered if it was related to an alethiometer somehow, if Edmund's guess was correct. In a strange way, she was glad that he knew about it, that it wasn't just her and Reepicheep on their own now-in spite of the pang of guilt she felt when she thought about the Lord Professor's earnest face as he had given the watch to her.

"Can I see that?" Edmund asked, wanting a turn to hold the watch himself and puzzle over it for a bit.

Not seeing how it could hurt so long as he gave it back when he was done, Lucy said, "Sure." and handed it over to him.

As he reached for it, the cuff of the shirt under his doublet rode up on his arm slightly, revealing an alarmingly dark bruise just above his wrist. It was shaped like a ring going all the way around that part of his arm, purple-black in colour, and covered with red, animal-like scratches that looked like they were still in the process of heading, as if he'd gotten the injury a good while ago, but it had been so severe that it healed at a painfully slow pace.

"Ed!" Gasped Lucy, her jaw dropping and her eyes goggling at his wrist in disbelief. "What happened?"

An ashamed expression appeared on his face, as his cheeks went crimson. He made haste to cover it up again, but that didn't change what Lucy had seen. "It's nothing, really."

" _Nothing_?" Reepicheep gawked at him, his eyes shifting over to Ella for answers she, too, would not give.

"It looks like someone was trying to break your arm." Lucy commented.

"I fell." Edmund lied too quickly.

"What about the scratches, then?" Lucy felt her eyes filling up with tears, frightened for her friend.

"There were branches, sharp ones...er...with thorns..." Edmund tried, sounding way too unsure of his story for it to be the truth.

"It looks like an animal scratched you." said Lucy, her voice kind of flat now.

"Lucy," Reepicheep climbed up her arm and whispered in her ear. "Those weren't just _any_ animal claws that cut at him. I saw the marks, they were savage and wild, but also _delicate_ for lack of a better word."

Lucy didn't understand so she kept staring at Edmund as he gulped and shifted in his seat until Reepicheep finally spelled it out for her. "His mother's dæmon, the golden monkey, I remember his claws from when he tried to touch me."

"It's not what you think." Edmund insisted, fighting the childish urge to cry. "Really, it isn't. I fell and hurt myself, that's all."

"It's true." said Ella, looking as anxious as Edmund felt. "I can vouch for it."

"You're his dæmon." Reepicheep pointed out sort of quietly. "You saying he's telling the truth doesn't count."

"How long ago..." Lucy had to at least know that much.

"Three weeks?" Edmund guessed, still stubbornly clinging to the lie he had made up. "Since I fell, I mean."

It was a stupid lie, to try and hide what his mother had done to him, but Lucy wouldn't have been able to understand why she did it. It wasn't that Mrs. Coulter didn't love her son, or meant to be abusive, she was just a little more intense than most when it came to making her children obey her. She in herself was sweet enough, but the other side of her, the side represented by her monkey dæmon was fierce. Dæmons weren't supposed to touch humans that weren't their own, so usually for punishment, it was Ella who got the monkey's snarl and manhandling while Edmund got a slap or two from Mrs. Coulter before being sent to his room. But, three weeks ago, it had been different, horribly, frightfully, traumatically different. All Edmund gathered from the lesson he was supposed to have learned was that the golden monkey was getting too used to touching other humans (though he wouldn't have dared to say that out loud). Still he didn't hate the golden monkey-or his mother; he still loved them, he just feared them, too.


	13. A snowball fight

While Lucy and Edmund played chess inside, Peter and Susan walked the snow-covered grounds of the land owned by the Experimental Station. After being convinced that Lucy was alright, though he noticed something different behind her eyes-something not unlike fear and confusion-outwardly, at least, she seemed to be doing well, Peter had wanted to get some fresh air. Mrs. Coulter would not allow him to go out alone, saying it was too dangerous, even on the main property, and insisted he allow two trained guards with wolf-dæmons to accompany him. He would have minded this a lot more if Susan hadn't come along as well. She had been sent out largely as something of a spy by her mother to keep an eye on him, making sure he didn't see or hear anything they didn't want him to, or attempt to run away, but she didn't bother being stern or on her guard. Rather, she simply walked along-side Peter and the guards, doing little more than keeping him company when all was said and done.

Maugrim was, of course, thoroughly irritated, knowing quite well that if Susan had really wanted to, she probably could have insisted that her mother find someone else to watch over her scientific find. Now he was stuck outside in the cold instead of indoors where the roaring fires and biscuits and meat scraps were. He wasn't fond of the guards' dæmons (probably because he didn't think there was much good in paying attention to them when their masters were only a little above the rank of servants, whereas his mistress was a high-born lady) so he ignored them and waited eagerly for the venture to be over.

A wild, earth-coloured hare hopped by them; Susan merely smiled and said, "Oh, a hare!" but Maugrim snapped his teeth playfully, wanting to chase after it. And he did so for a couple of feet until he felt the familiar-somewhat painful-tug that reminded him he was going too far from his human.

He scampered back to her, whimpering softly, pawing at the bottom of her skirt and fur coat, nudging her boots. "Susan!"

"No," Susan sighed airily in reply to her dæmon. "I'm not following you just so you can track down that poor hare. Do let's leave it alone, Maugrim."

He looked up at Peter and growled, sensing that his human had put her hand on his shoulder-wanting her to let go. It was a frustrating feeling for a dæmon, feeling their human's pleasure and, at the same time, disagreeing with it entirely. It made Maugrim feel cranky and long for the days when he could have shape-shifted. Then, Susan had been less concerned with grown-up matters-known nothing of flirting-and had been a lot more fun to be around. She was never a particularly imaginative girl-child, so Maugrim's forms had been limited, but he still missed those old days. The days of innocence so to speak, when the term 'Dust' had meant the ash-coloured stuff that the maids had to wipe off the credenza in the south hallway.

The walk went on peacefully-sullenly where Maugrim was concerned-until a sharp wind knocked down a fragile branch fairly encased with snow, causing a little mini avalanche to fall on Peter's head.

Susan couldn't help it, the very second she was sure he was unhurt, she burst out laughing, putting her hand to her mouth in an attempt to hold back its intensity. He _did_ look rather funny with all that snow dripping down into his collar-it wasn't entirely her fault.

Smiling at her, Peter took a step back and bent down to the ground to scoop up more snow. Then, when she was blinking down at him, her face back to its regular expression, albeit a little puzzled, he lightly tossed the snowball at her arm. It wasn't packed well-he was too afraid of hurting her and had learned from the eight years spent playing with Lucy that girls were sensitive creatures-so it was mostly a puffy explosion on the upper sleeve of her coat.

Maugrim's back hairs stood up; but he didn't look as angry as might have been expected, a glimmer of the playfulness he'd shown when the hare had come by twinkled within him. It looked almost as though he wanted to give Peter a little nip on the hand; not a cruel one to hurt him, just a brief, sharp one to steady the boy up a bit.

It was Susan, however, that took action because her dæmon wouldn't make contact with another human. She felt sorry-for a fleeting moment-realizing what Maugrim expected-even needed in a way-but could not have. If Peter had had a dæmon of his own, like an ordinary person, then Maugrim could have snapped at and played with her. That was the way dæmons grew close to other humans besides their own, through _their_ dæmons. Maugrim would have a hard time growing to see Peter as anything more than just another of Mrs. Coulter's experiments because he couldn't see the manifestation of his soul.

Susan's snowball hit Peter in the neck and dripped into his collar. It was a pretty gentle toss and it didn't hurt apart from being cold, but he fake-glared at her as though it had and took a step towards her. Maugrim growled faintly, misunderstanding, but remained his distance. Susan squealed and started running in the opposite direction.

"Hey, get back here!" he called after her teasingly.

"No thanks." Susan giggled, still running from him, though at a much slower pace so that he caught up to her in a few seconds, holding another snowball.

Maugrim barked, feeling left out as he panted at his lady's unsteady, shifting feet.

Rather than throw the snowball at her right away, Peter grinned, holding it up ready and alert, saying, "Better say you're sorry."

"No!" laughed Susan, shaking her head in faux-defiance.

"Then suffer the consequences."

"Eeep!" Came her squeal of anticipation as her eyes shut tightly and Maugrim let out a howl.

Much to her surprise, she didn't feel a rush of icy-cold snow smack at her coat, neck, or face. Instead, she heard the drop of a puffy snowball harmlessly plopping on the ground followed by the feeling of being embraced, picked up, and spun around.

Her cheeks reddened from the sudden rush, she was laughing too hard to say anything until he put her back down on the ground.

"Well, I warned you." he shook his head at her.

Susan opened her mouth to protest jokingly, but unexpectedly lost her footing on a slick patch of ice she hadn't noticed and nearly fell backwards into a snowdrift. Peter reached out and managed to get a hold of her waist, only succeeding in losing his own balance and unwittingly pulling himself-and her-down another, slightly steeper snow-covered hill.

They rolled a few times, Maugrim close behind, trying to keep up and to ignore the awkwardness of not having another dæmon to scuffle with while the two humans descended. When they came to a complete stop, Peter was on his back with Susan on top of him.

"Are you alright?" she gasped breathlessly.

He was actually pretty comfortable in that position even with the melting snow dampening up the back of his coat and the lower part of his tights. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I asked if you were alright." Susan repeated herself.

Peter blinked up at her and murmured, "Yes, I'm fine."

"I should probably get up, you must be freezing." said Susan, awkwardly attempting to get off of him.

"Hang it all, it _is_ wet." Peter muttered, not having really felt the cold until he no longer had the distraction of a pretty girl being laid out on top of him.

"Maybe we should go back." Susan suggested, looking over her shoulder, passed the stony-faced guards and their wolf dæmons, over to Bolvangar.

Standing up, Peter nodded and followed her, Maugrim, and the guards back to the glass doors of the station.

"That was fun," Susan told him as they walked side by side down the hallway. "I haven't played in the snow for years."

Peter turned and crinkled his forehead at her. Living up in the north as she did, that statement struck him as a little out of place. "Seriously?"

Susan sighed and shook her head pensively. "No, I'm busy most of the time."

"With what?"

"Oh, lots of things."

"What kind of 'things'?" Peter never had been one to give up easily.

"Being born into high society means a lot of events." Susan shrugged her shoulders. "It's important; besides, I like it." She paused for a moment, grimaced, and then added, "And then of course I have my lessons, all ladies of breeding have to have lessons."

"I find it a little hard to believe that you have enough events to keep you occupied this far up north." said Peter.

"You would be surprised." Susan informed him as they went around the next corner. "But they aren't all here in the north, anyhow. Mother takes me with her to events in the fine cities, too."

"How?" Peter wanted to know.

"In her Zeppelin, of course." Susan laughed as though it was something he ought to have known, in spite of the fact that there was no way he could have.

"Your mother has a Zeppelin?" he assumed that must have meant that nothing similar to the Hindenburg disaster of 1937 in his own world had happened in this one. Peter recalled, quite vividly, the horrified look on his father's face when he heard about it on the radio only a few years back.

Susan nodded. "She needs it to get from place to place."

"My mum just has a secondhand car from my father's uncle." Peter chuckled.

"What do your servants say about it?" asked Susan.

Peter burst out laughing at that. "Right, my parents having servants, that's funny."

Susan seemed genuinely disturbed over this. "But..." she faltered, stammering uncomprehendingly. "Who cooks the meals and sets up your social engagements and cleans your clothes?"

"No one...I guess my mum does all that herself." Peter didn't understand her confusion over the matter, but he was willing to sort of half-humour her if need be, even if his mother hadn't had a 'social engagement' in at least three years.

"He isn't a noble, then." Maugrim hissed up at his mistress. "I guess that means he's exactly where he ought to be."

Susan shuddered involuntarily, having all but forgotten that Peter was just a scientific find, that she wasn't really supposed to be so fascinated with his life; but she couldn't help it-she couldn't help wanting to know.

"Are you alright?" Peter asked her, not having heard what Maugrim had just said.

"Y-y-yes," Susan blurted out, her tone fairly teaming with fake-cheeriness. "I'm fine, really. Just...just cold...it must have been all that snow..."

They had arrived at the door leading to Peter's room now, so Susan said a quick goodbye and turned to leave him. "Come, Maugrim."

Maugrim glanced back at Peter and squinted hard for a nearly a full minute before Susan-unable to get far without her dæmon by her side-repeated her command.

Sighing, he let out a light, "Wuff," and turned around to follow his human back to her quarters.


	14. of Dust and streams

Lucy had lost track of how long she and Peter had been at Bolvangar. Had it been a few days, a few weeks, or even a few _months_? She wasn't sure. It was hard to tell time at the Experimental Station. The days were all similar shades of gray, save for when it got darker-almost black-because of an unexpected sleet downpour (there was almost always sleet instead of rain that far north) or a sudden snowstorm. As for Bolvangar's nights, neither Lucy nor Peter knew what they looked like because Mrs. Coulter never let them out after sunset.

Running away was not an option; everything had gotten too complicated for that. It was more than the tall, dark-bearded guards and the soft insistent tones of the nurses-and of Mrs. Coulter-that kept them there. There was Edmund and Susan to consider.

Lucy constantly worried about Edmund. She knew that Reepicheep had sensed something off about him from the moment they met, but now she saw it, too. Even on his own turf, he could get a distant look about him, and he always changed the subject when she asked about how his injury was healing. She considered him her friend and wanted to help him-she just didn't know how to go about it.

At first, she had thought that if she could just get a better look around Bolvangar, explore a few more rooms, find something that explained maybe about Dust (since he supposedly had it), or his father, or what exactly it was that his mother did and why, she could figure out what to do next. However, there were several hallways she was forbidden to go down, having been told they were private, and there always seemed to be someone making sure neither she or Peter ever went that way. Sometimes it was a nurse with a bland, bored looking dæmon and other times it was Susan and Maugrim or even Mrs. Coulter herself with the golden monkey riding on her shoulder or walking by her side in a grim, almost child-like manner.

Having decided fairly early on that she liked Susan, in spite of their apparent lack of common ground, Lucy-though a little annoyed-didn't mind so much when it was Mrs. Coulter's daughter who escorted her back to the parts of Bolvangar she was permitted to wander in, but she always felt an inward shutter whenever It was Mrs. Coulter herself. When the woman would grab onto her hand, her touch was gentle enough, but her grip was overtly strong. Lucy couldn't help glancing over at the monkey dæmon, half-afraid it was going to attempt to snap Reepicheep like a twig if his mistress suddenly had a change of heart and permitted it. Lucy's breath would get caught up in her throat and she found herself gulping at the hard lump, only breathing freely again once her hand was released.

If Edmund was as afraid of Mrs. Coulter as Lucy was, he never said so, though he always made haste to obey her when she told him to do something, warily eyeing that golden monkey, moving about as if he were treading on egg-shells he knew he mustn't break. The most astonishing thing about the relationship Edmund had with his mother was that, in spite of his nervous, wide-eyed dæmon and his bruised upper wrist, he evidently still loved her. He willingly, with no trace of disgust or even a faint hit of distain, would kiss her on the cheek before bed, even letting her monkey caress Ella's feathers. There was no hatred in his eyes, no sadness, just the same sort of look Peter would have given his mother, Helen. Susan was like that, too: she obeyed the letter of her mother's law even when she didn't really want to, but did not seem to resent the woman for it.

Puzzling over this one windy afternoon when there was no chance of taking a walk, Lucy, sitting up on her bed holding the silver pocket watch, whispered to Reepicheep that she wished it really was an alethiometer.

"I know what Edmund said, about them being bad, and he's probably right, I guess, but-" Lucy shook her head sadly, reaching out one hand to stroke Reepicheep's fur as he shifted into a golden-brown tomcat, sensing she needed comfort. "-but if it were an alethiometer-one with pictures and things-and I could read it and all that-it could tell me what I need to do to help him."

"Not to mention, tell us if it that cutting operation was a dream like they've been saying it was or if Mrs. Coulter's a liar." Reepicheep added, putting his slim, now cream-coloured paws on her lap and resting his head on top of them.

"But I don't know what this watch is anyway-it might be _anything_ -and I can't read it." said Lucy, fighting back a few tears she felt springing up into her eyes.

"You don't think there could be a library somewhere in this place?" Reepicheep said, lifting his head up and cocking it to one side ponderously.

"There might be!" Lucy exclaimed, thinking perhaps she could find a book on the subject of Dust.

Reepicheep suddenly looked down-hearted. "Not that it's any use."

"How do you mean?" Lucy asked, folding her arms across her chest. To her, it seemed like such a room would be very useful indeed.

"Think of all those rooms we aren't allowed in." he reminded her, somewhat sharply. "Do you really think Mrs. Coulter is just going to let you go through all her books and papers? We're like prisoners here, Lucy, and we don't even know what she wants with us."

"You don't think-if it was real-that she means to try and cut us apart again?" Lucy asked nervously, tightening her grip on her beloved dæmon.

"No," Reepicheep shook his head. "she would have done that by now if that was her aim."

"So it must be something else." Lucy decided.

"Of course it is."

"Supposing it's to do with Dust?" she thought aloud. "With Edmund and Ella having it because they're settled and us not having it, because you can still change shape."

"But that doesn't make much sense, either." Reepicheep pointed out. "If Edmund's correct, all children with shifting dæmons haven't got Dust and one child would be as good as the next."

"You think it's Peter, then?" Lucy said, hitting a real brainwave. "I mean, if you have a dæmon and it's settled, you've got Dust, right?"

Reepicheep nodded in a 'go on' sort of way.

"And if your dæmon isn't settled, then you haven't got it yet but are going to have it when you're older...right?"

"I think that's what Edmund meant." Reepicheep agreed.

"Well, what if you didn't have a dæmon at all? Would you have Dust or wouldn't you?" Lucy went on excitedly. "I mean, Edmund has it, through Ella, but does Peter?"

"You think that's what Mrs. Coulter is _really_ trying to find out?" Reepicheep looked a little alarmed and shifted into his beaver-in-armour form.

"Oh, Reep!" said Lucy as she stood up, clutching the silver pocket watch so tightly that her fingers ached. "You don't suppose she'd try to hurt him, do you?"

"Not if he's the only one without a dæmon in this world," Reepicheep calmed her down a bit. "I think that makes him too valuable for anyone here to harm."

"I don't care about whether or not Peter has Dust." Lucy's mouth tightened into a grim, determined line. "I care about him because he's my brother, and I want to know more about what's going on here."

"How do you propose we solve that problem?" Reepicheep's tone was slightly sarcastic, but not cruelly so.

Lucy's eyes flickered. "I _am_ going to ask Edmund if there is a library with books about Dust and alethiometers in this building." Looking out the only window in her room rattled by a wind so powerful she could almost see it like the winds from fairy-tales that were always blowing heroines to secret places, she bit onto her pursed-out lower lip. Releasing it, she murmured, "I _will_ ask him, I will-I don't care. I must do _something_."

In another part of the Experimental Station, Peter was sitting in a rocking chair by the window of his own room thinking about how very odd it was, all that had happened to bring him to this place; he didn't necessarily want to be here at Bolvangar, and yet, he didn't want to leave. It wasn't the place, he realized quickly enough, it was the girl with the wolf dæmon. It was Susan and Maugrim. He couldn't quite pin-point an exact moment when he first realized he was falling in love with her; it just sort of happened. Yes, she had her faults just like any other person, she wasn't perfect. She could be uppity and snooty, even out-right vain, but there was more to her than just those few petty qualities, and he felt he could easily deal with all of those things. That he could love her for everything she wasn't as well as for everything she _was_.

He still smiled when he thought of their walks together-the time they had played in the snow-and their various other common, day to day exchanges. With more than a little anticipation, he looked forward to her visits and conversation. Strange as it might seem, Peter was even starting to like Maugrim because he was a part of her-feeling excited when the wolf came into view, knowing Susan couldn't be far behind.

It was nearly tea-time if the clock ticking on the wall opposite to the window was correct, and he was glad of it. While he usually took breakfast, lunch, and supper with Lucy in a little antechamber close to the back door of the building, his tea was brought up to his room for him to have-in theory-by himself. Occasionally it had been a nurse who brought the familiar brass-coloured tray in at half-passed four, but more often, it was Susan and Maugrim. And they almost always stayed for a good hour or so to keep him company.

Though Maugrim hadn't much liked this arrangement and had spent much of the time by the door (the furthest distance he could have gone from Susan who sat across from Peter, setting the tray down on the little table in the corner) growling at nothing, in time he got tired of this and eventually curled up by the fireplace and dozed for a little while. With his eyes closed and his head resting in such a delicate, charming fashion, he looked almost peaceful.

It was, much to Peter's joy and relief, Susan and Maugrim that brought the tea-tray on this particular day. He meant to tell her how he felt, hoping she just might feel the same way. His mouth opened twice and closed up again both times, he wasn't quite ready to say it yet.

That's alright, he thought to himself as he watched Maugrim settle into his place by the fire with surprising ease and comfort, I have a whole hour to get up the nerve to say something, if I can only figure out how to word it without blurting it out like an idiot-which is probably what's going to happen anyway.

Susan's mouth moved and she was apparently saying something but he didn't hear what it was.

Peter blinked at her apologetically. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I said, you're quiet today." Susan repeated herself as she turned a tea-cup right side up and poured some hot water into it.

"I have a lot on my mind." Peter came up with, watching her roll up one of the sleeves of her dress and gently squeeze the juice out of a lemon wedge into the water.

A remarkably small spoonful of sugar was scooped into her cup in a swift, delicate motion as she reached up with her other hand to pull a loose strand of dark hair away from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. "Anything you want to talk about?"

 _Yes, actually, I think I'm in love with you, please pass the butter to your left._ "Uh...the um...I um...could you pass the butter?" That wasn't really the part of his thought he had wanted to get across but it was better than nothing.

"Peter, I-" Susan started to say something as she handed him the crystal-glass butter holder, but she seemed to lose her nerve for a moment, glancing over at Maugrim.

Her wolf-dæmon lifted his head to look back at her, rolled his eyes, and mouthed, "Just tell him." He hadn't wanted this to happen, but somehow he had known, a good while before his mistress had, that it would happen anyway. Maugrim had seen her fascination with the boy from the first and had watched, rather sulkily, as it grew. And he knew it had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that Peter had no dæmon.

She cleared her throat and tried again. "Peter, I...life is like a stream..."

"Not the stream metaphor," Maugrim groaned, putting his paw over the space between his eyes and nose and whimpering softly to himself. He was aware that his human liked to sound smart, especially when she was nervous, but this was just ridiculous.

"...it takes unexpected turns and there are reefs and things..." Susan wasn't sure how this was going to help, but it _sounded_ about right. "...and you think the current is going one way, but then it goes the other...and when it comes to that point..."

Maugrim moved his paw back down onto the rug and barked, trying to snap her out of it-needless to say, it didn't work.

"I'm sorry, you've lost me." Peter finally told her when nearly twenty minutes had gone by and she was still going on and on about currents. "What are you talking about?"

"I just meant that sometimes a person feels a certain way without meaning to." she blurted out, taking a sip of her no longer hot lemon water, trying to look demure and composed.

"Okay..." Peter nodded, still confused.

"Oh, for goodness sake," Maugrim got up and walked over to them. "she's in love with you and for some unexplainable reason, it makes her talk about streams!"

"Maugrim!" cried Susan in a distressed tone.

Feeling her embarrassment, the wolf instantly regretted saying anything, remembering that he had never wanted her to fall for Peter in the first place.

"Susan," Peter found that he couldn't stop smiling as he reached over and gently placed one of his hands over hers. "I feel the same way." He paused for a minute, then added, "Well except for the bit about the stream."

Susan shook her head. "Streams-"

"Let's just forget about the bloody stream, alright?" Peter whispered, choking back a laugh.

She nodded in agreement, her face felt hot and flushed, she knew she couldn't trust her mouth or her voice at the moment. "Okay, good idea."

Though neither of them actually remembered getting up, they found within a few moments that they were no longer sitting down across from each other, but were, instead, standing up. Susan felt Peter's arms slip around her waist; he pulled her closer.

Maugrim felt his human's pleasure and was once again left in an awkward position because lovers' dæmons often touched each other-and Peter had no dæmon.

"I love you." Peter said, leaning in to kiss her.

Susan sighed and kissed him back, putting her arms around his neck.

She may be happy now, Maugrim thought darkly, but I shudder to think what will happen when this gets out, she's thirteen years old, a lady of breeding, and in love with a dæmonless nobody-just how did _this_ happen?

Peter pulled away from her lips and kissed her cheek, her neck, and then her earlobe.

If Susan had been a less refined young lady, she might have giggled when she felt his breath against the side of her ear. As it was, she was somewhat tempted to, but she fought the urge back by turning her head and pressing her lips against his again.

Maugrim noticed the time on the clock; remembering that they had to get ready for supper with some guests Mrs. Coulter was having in one of the spare dinning halls in the north wing. "Susan!"

"Not now," Susan murmured, not wanting to leave Peter's arms just yet.

"Susan!" her dæmon pawed at the skirt of her dress so insistently that she couldn't ignore it for very long.

Pulling away from Peter, Susan pouted at Maugrim and mouthed, "What?"

"We're going to be late, we've been in this room for almost three hours." Maugrim snarled, glaring at Peter as if it were his fault.

Susan gasped and picked up the tea-tray as she came back to reality with a thump. "Oh dear." To Peter, she said, "I really have to go, but I'll try to come back tomorrow."

Peter nodded, still in something of a daze. "Sure."

"Come, Maugrim." Susan said quickly, tapping her leg like she was calling a pet dog.

As they left the room together and headed down the hallway, Maugrim hissed, "Susan Coulter, you're going to get us into so much trouble!"

"You were the one who told him that I loved him." Susan shot back pointedly.

"You wouldn't shut up about streams!" Maugrim snarled, his ears pricking up while he spoke.

"What am I going to do?" Susan winced, finally realizing that she was getting in too deep.

"How should I know?" Maugrim said sort of meanly, scratching one of his claws against the pale-coloured hallway tile. "You never listen to me anyway."


	15. A betrayal will be forthcoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am aware Mrs. Coulter's dead husband is actually named "Edward", not "Edmund", and I was aware of it when I wrote this fic in 2009, too, but I changed it to suit my fic better.

"Don't tell anyone I let you in here, alright?" Edmund said anxiously, looking over his shoulder as he twisted the oddly-shaped iron key in the ebony wood-and-metal lock. "We've got about forty minutes before anyone will notice we're missing and twenty-five before my mother realizes this key isn't were she left it, so I'd give us about ten to fifteen minutes tops."

Lucy nodded, goggling at the design of the door itself. It was pretty enough, but the carvings were uncomfortably stiff-looking, perfect down to the last firmly engraved line.

She had asked Edmund, just as she'd said she would, if there was a library in Bolvangar that had any books on Dust and alethiometers. His first reaction to her question had surprised her; he'd seemed stunned, even a little angry. Then, his expression grew normal again as if he realized that she didn't mean to ask for anything wrong.

"I'm curious about what you said before." Lucy had explained hastily. "About my pocket watch reminding you of an alethiometer. I thought if there was a book about it..."

"There aren't any books strictly on the subject of Dust, Lucy." Edmund explained sort of quietly. "The ruling powers burned very nearly every publication that even mentioned Dust at the turn of the last century."

"I don't understand," Lucy mused in a low voice, shaking her head. "if they were all destroyed how does your mother know about Dust? How does she know about alethiometers?"

"Well, nearly everyone _knows_ about Dust." Edmund shrugged his shoulders. "It's just considered heresy to talk about it."

"Because it's bad?"

"Right." Edmund nodded.

"I still don't get it." Lucy had to admit.

Edmund didn't get it either, but he didn't see the need to point that out to Lucy all over again. Instead, he made his voice even lower and said, "But there are a few books on alethiometers that only got hidden away, and those were never burned."

"Where are they?"

"One of them is in Svalbard, kingdom of the ice bears. No one messes with a bear in armour, so everyone assumes that there isn't anyone who can get to _that_ book." Edmund said.

"Ice bears!" Lucy repeated in a breathless tone. A picture in her mind of a beautiful white bear in an over-sized version of a knight's armour; golden armour the very colour and shade of sunlight itself, conjured up greatness in her thoughts. A kingdom of ice bears! Bears that could _think_ -maybe even _read_!

"There aren't ice bears where you came from?" Edmund asked, clearly surprised at her awe, although he quickly remembered that Lyra had been fascinated by the idea of the panserbjørner, too.

"I get the sort of idea that our bears, the ones in the world Peter and I came from, are a little different." said Lucy, glancing down at Reepicheep who had, in turn, just shape-shifted into a smaller, dog-sized version of a polar bear. "They don't wear armour."

"I see." Edmund processed this thought and went on. "Anyway, another is at some out-post town in Norroway, and there rest-except for one-are at unknown locations. They could be anywhere in the whole of the world."

"What about the one exception?" Lucy dared to ask. "Where is that book?"

"My mother has it." Edmund blurted out as though afraid that if he didn't say it at once, his mind would force him to lie. "Sort of-I mean, the man who I heard talking to her-someone who wanted to get the alethiometer from Jordan College, he gave the book to her."

"Do you know where she keeps it?"

Ella, her big, bright eyes glowing with over-stimulation, clanked her beak and replied, "No," but Edmund slowly nodded yes, that he _did_ know.

And so, without any further ado, Edmund had found himself swiping the key to his mother's study (a small, library-like room about six doors down from the room where Lucy took her meals with Peter every day) with Ella flapping her wings fretfully a few feet away. In all honesty, Edmund had never actually _seen_ the book unless you counted the passing glimpse of it being handed over to his mother while he watched with his eye pressed up against a crack in the wardrobe he'd been hiding in, but now he wanted to look at it with Lucy. He didn't trust Dust because his mother had told him all his life that it was bad, however, he still wanted to find out if Lucy's pocket watch did or did not have anything to do with truth-measures. What finding out the answer to that question would lead to, he wasn't sure, only that he would figure it out along the way.

Reepicheep shifted into a black weasel with chocolate-brown eyes just as Edmund pushed the now-unlocked door to Mrs. Coulter's study open. He sniffed at the area around the doorway and whispered, "All clear."

"Oh, I do wish we weren't doing this!" Ella whisper-exclaimed, flying after her human as he walked in.

"But we've got to." Reepicheep said bravely, scampering over to Lucy's side and climbing up onto a small cherry-wood table near where she was standing. "How else can we find out what the pocket watch is for?"

"It mightn't be an alethiometer at all, though, we might be on the wrong track completely." Ella perched on a chair near the table so she could talk to Reepicheep more easily.

"Quiet, both of you!" Edmund snapped, trying to find the book. _Where would she keep it?_

The most obvious place was the deep-russet, mahogany bookcase with it's sparkling glass-front and shinny brass-and-silver knobs, but Mrs. Coulter never picked the obvious places, it just wasn't her way. While there were indeed lots of expensive-looking, copper-bound tomes with gold glittering on their spines, none of these seemed to be the one.

Because the room was completely dark except for the small fire lit in the far right corner and the two twinkling window-candles, Edmund could see his reflection staring back at him through the bookcase far more clearly than he could see the books themselves. He noticed how pale he looked, and wondered if he really was as frightened as Ella acted after all. Did those serious brown eyes show his dæmon's uneasiness? Could someone-maybe someone like Lucy-tell what his life was really like just by looking at him? Of course the idea was absurd and he gave himself a silent scolding for wasting all that time thinking about it; dragging his fingers along the handles. _Which one? Which one?_

"Edmund?" Lucy put her hand on his shoulder, wondering if he was all right.

"I'm thinking, Lu, don't rush me."

"Oh, sorry."

Uncertainly, he lifted a glass book-window at random and hoped for the best. Reepicheep, still a weasel, climbed up to that shelf and stuck his nose in the spaces between each book.

"Reep, what are you doing?" Lucy asked her dæmon, furrowing her brows in confusion.

"Looking for a slip volume." Reepicheep said shortly, keeping at it vigorously.

"A which?" said Edmund.

"A slip volume; a book just an inch or so too slim for this row..."

"What good-" Edmund started before Lucy gasped and clapped her hands excitedly, finally understanding what Reepicheep was getting at.

A slip volume was sometimes used in old bookcases as a way to hide a secret compartment for particularly valuable books. The Lord Digory's College probably had dozens of them in various study rooms. Edmund had never seen-or heard of-such a thing and was rather skeptical of Reepicheep's notion until the dæmon suddenly said, "This one!"

"Worth a try, I suppose." Edmund reached out and pulled the book forward; a small painted panel sunk into the case, revealing a hidden draw from which, stuck out an old-looking tome bound in leather.

"The book!" Gasped Ella, her beak twisting into a half-pained, half-delighted shape as she stared down at it.

Edmund picked it up and placed it on the table, his fingers trembling. He'd never pictured himself doing anything like this before-going through something he knew, without being told, was forbidden to him. The cool-to-the-touch leather felt strangely refreshing against his hurt wrist which now looked more like massive rug-burn than anything else. As he flipped it open to the middle page, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Ooh!" Lucy's voice actually squeaked when she looked down at the page.

It wasn't a picture of a compass-like object or any sort of pocket watch, but a portrait of a large tawny Lion with a gold-orange mane so pure that it seemed to glow even in ink. There seemed to be something like fiery-coloured light, a rough, grainy kind, flowing either up into the sky from the body of the massive Lion or else down into the Lion from the sky.

"That light..." Reepicheep muttered, leaning over Lucy's arm to get a closer look at the picture.

"That's not light..." Ella's voice quivered as if she thought the Lion was going to jump out of the page and devour her whole. "...it's...it's Dust, it must be."

"What does it mean, Edmund?" Lucy's eyes flickered over to him.

"I don't know." his face had now gone far paler than it was when he'd seen it in the bookcase a few moments before. If Edmund had felt a little guilty while looking at Peter, he felt nearly suicidal looking down at that unknown Lion. He didn't know who or what it was, if it was a real animal or else someone's dæmon, but he felt as if he wasn't worthy to look at it. Those beautiful cat-eyes, that open, singing muzzle, made his stomach ache and unexplained hot tears spring up into his eyes.

Before another word could be said, the door to the study suddenly swung open and a golden monkey sprang out at Reepicheep, pinning him down to the table.

"Lucy!" he cried, trying to free himself of the monkey's grip.

"Let him go!" Edmund shouted before he felt a hand on his shoulder and followed it up to the face of his mother, frowning down at him. "Hullo, mother." He added weakly.

The golden monkey let go of Reepicheep who instantly ran back over to Lucy, shifted into a bat, and hissed angrily.

"You may tell your dæmon to calm down, child." Mrs. Coulter told her in a voice as smooth as olive oil. "I don't think we could help being a little startled that there was someone in here, and if it was a robber, we wouldn't have wanted his dæmon to get away, would we have?"

"N-n-no," Lucy stammered, taking a step back with Reepicheep, still a bat, resting on her right shoulder. "I suppose not."

"Well, then, in the future, please do not come into this room unbidden, do you understand?"

"Yes." she answered automatically, her eyes slowly drifting over to Edmund who looked absolutely terrified-and Ella who was so flustered that she seemed to be on the verge of falling over and passing out at any given moment.

"You may go back to your room now, Lucy." Mrs. Coulter told her. "I'm sure you want to get ready for supper." The golden monkey hopped over the side of the table and slammed the alethiometer book shut, baring teeth that gleamed the colour of candy-corn in the dimly-lit room. "I must talk with my son alone."

Lucy watched as Mrs. Coulter's other hand landed on Edmund's free shoulder so that she could grip both of them tightly. With horror, she thought of his hurt arm and didn't want to leave him with this woman, even if she was his mother.

"Lucy, dear, did you not hear me?" Mrs. Coulter's voice was still smooth, even sweet, but it was much more stern now.

Lucy didn't move a muscle; all she could think was that she had to help her friend. Surely Mrs. Coulter wouldn't do anything to him if Lucy was right there watching. It might serve as a protection for him, she thought to herself, a weak one, but a protection all the same.

Unbeknownst to her, however, the golden monkey was hanging from a piece of hard-oak furniture, reaching out to grab Reepicheep...his paw getting closer with each moment of her defiance.

Edmund noticed his mother's dæmon and quickly exclaimed, "Lucy, leave, _now_!"

She didn't understand he was only saying it for her own good, to keep the golden monkey from getting his claws into her Reep, but she did sense the angst in his tone and was startled into obeying.

Once Edmund and Mrs. Coulter were alone in the room and the door was shut and latched behind them so that Lucy could not walk back in even if she turned right around and tried, the golden monkey stationed himself near where Ella was. If he wanted to, he could have reached out one of his arms and torn at her beautiful white wings.

Mrs. Coulter let go of her son's shoulders and took a seat in the chair by the table. "I don't think I need to tell you how disappointed I am, Edmund."

"I know, mother, you're angry..." Edmund bit his lip and lowered his head.

"Angry?" she blinked at him and sighed deeply. "No, my dear, I'm far beyond angry."

His eyes flickered to Ella; the monkey, close though he sat to her, showed no signs of grabbing her. "Mother-"

"What were you thinking," she crossed her legs and tightened her glare. "bringing that girl in here? Not to mention stealing the key and looking at a book that clearly did not concern you?"

"Are you going to slap me?" his tone made him sound about five years younger than he really was.

Mrs. Coulter tucked a blond curl behind her left ear. "And just what would that accomplish, Edmund? Would you learn anything? Probably not. Clearly you're impossible to train and you don't care about the feelings of others."

"Mother, I'm sorry..." Edmund thought-though it could have been a trick of light-that he saw tears in her eyes.

Her jaw-line tightened. "I shan't slap you, but you do have about four seconds to explain yourself before I decide what I _am_ going to do with you."

"What do you mean?" he asked, wondering if her tears had suddenly vanished or if they had never been there to begin with.

"Well, clearly I cannot educate you, I'm at my wit's end."

"Do you mean you're sending me away to school? Perhaps to Jordan College?" he wanted to know.

Mrs. Coulter's nose wrinkled involuntarily. "Good heavens, no!"

"But you just said-"

"That is not a punishment, that's sleep-away camp." she muttered under her breath. Speaking clearly again, she added, "I'm still waiting for your explanation." Her eyes darkened to a deeper, more intense shade of blue. "Oh, and it had better be good."

He hesitated and the monkey waved his golden paw close to the tip of Ella's left wing. "Edmund!"

"Alright, what happened was this:" he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Lucy Pevensie has this thing-this silver pocket watch her uncle gave her-and we-I mean, I-think its related to a truth-measure, you know, a golden compass." He was careful not to use the real terms or to out-right say, 'I think it's to do with Dust' because he knew it would upset her greatly. "And I...I know I wasn't even supposed to know about it, but I do-the...the book I mean...and I just thought-"

Mrs. Coulter looked less angry and much more interested now. "Edmund, who is the Pevensie girl's uncle, do you know?"

"I'm not sure." Edmund shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry."

"Well, then, tell me a little more about the pocket watch and why you found it so out of the ordinary." she ordered him, listening intently.

And he did; he told her all about what it looked like and the strange letter-like things all around the edge and how Lucy thought it must be something very important.

"I see..." as Mrs. Coulter spoke, the golden monkey started backing away from Ella, edging closer to his mistress, much to Edmund's relief. "I have to say Edmund, while your actions were quite wrong, I think you may have been on the right track. However, it would have been much better if you had just asked me about it."

"Really?" Edmund was so stunned he could have been knocked over flat with a feather. "You mean that if I'd asked you, you would have let us see the book? Just like that?"

"No, of course not." Mrs. Coulter was now stroking her dæmon while he sat in her lap. "It's not a thing for children to deal with; it's an adult matter."

"I _am_ sorry, mother." Edmund apologized one more time for good measure.

"I know you are," Mrs. Coulter actually smiled at him, and he wondered if she was going to let him off the hook for this one. "however, you needn't fret about it being too late for the right thing to be done."

He did not understand what she meant, but he didn't say anything, he just stood there with a puzzled look on his face and listened.

"When you get a chance, you can go in and take the pocket watch from the Pevensie girl's room and bring it to me."

Edmund shook his head. "I can't do that, it would be wrong...it...it isn't mine...and it isn't yours either."

"Edmund, you don't realize what could be at stake here, you really must see reason and do as you're told."

"I can't." Edmund mumbled to the floor.

"Can't or _wont_?" she uncrossed her legs and then recrossed them when she was done speaking.

"What's the difference?"

Mrs. Coulter clinked her tongue. "Of course you wont listen to me, even when it's for your own good-for everyone's own good-you're your father's son after all, aren't you?"

Looking like he might cry, Edmund bit the inside of his cheek. "I'm not like him, I would never do what he did...or tried to do..."

"I wouldn't be so quick to say that if I were you," Mrs. Coulter sighed demurely. "you're just as headstrong as he was...you have his everything...his face...his eyes...his hair...his way of speaking...you even have his name..."

"I am not _him_." Edmund insisted, feeling the blood rush to his head and sensing his heart pounding in his ears.

"Edmund Coulter the second," Mrs. Coulter went on pressingly. "how very, very quaint."

"That was different...I wouldn't do...he tried to kill an infant and you told him not to do it...that's not the same situation as stealing from a little girl..."

"No," Mrs. Coulter said in an almost wistful tone. "just the same attitude."

"What do you want from me?"

"Just do as you're told, is that such an extraordinary request? How can you, my own flesh and blood, deny me this one little thing? After all I've done for you?"

"I'll do it." Edmund said finally, the words all but bursting from him. "I'll steal the watch, I'll...I'll work harder around the station, I'll do what you say...I'm not my father."

"I know you aren't, sweetheart, I know." Mrs. Coulter rose from her chair and patted her son on the cheek, planting a kiss on his forehead. "Mother knows."

"I'm sorry..."

"It's alright, now be a good boy and go wash up for supper."

Tears escaped at last as Edmund was turning to leave the room, Ella half-pressed against the wood of the door, desperate to get out.

"By the way, Edmund," his mother said in a gentle tone. "how is your arm doing? Does it still hurt?"

"A little." he told her through clenched teeth.

"I'll see to it that you have some ice and pain medicine sent up to your room tonight."

"Thank you." Edmund whispered, rushing out the door before she could see him have a full break-down.


	16. Do As You're Told

"Edmund!"

Edmund quickly spun around to see who was calling him, wincing when he realized it was his mother. He hadn't done what she'd told him to do yet; he was trying to put it off for as long as possible. Surely she was coming over to remind him. He'd have to do it, the theft of the pocket watch could not be put off for ever. Soon, he would be a thief. Worse than that, he would be a _cruel_ thief; taking something that clearly meant a lot to Lucy. Stealing an uncle's gift from a little girl wasn't at all the same as taking money from a person's wallet-it was more akin with taking an artist's engraved stable paintbrush; or a queen's crown; or an aged professor's worn history tome; or a seamstress's beloved workbox.

"Have you seen your sister?" Mrs. Coulter asked him, looking sort of grumpy, though she hid it with a trademark plastered-on, delightfully dimpled smile.

He was selfishly glad this wasn't about him, even if he didn't necessarily want Susan to be in trouble for anything. Besides, she had always been their mother's pet-child, the elder, perfectly groomed, sweet-tempered one, there wasn't much that could make Mrs. Coulter particularly angry with Susan.

"I haven't seen her." said Edmund, holding his breath, praying she wouldn't mention Lucy's silver pocket watch-not yet.

"She missed two of her lessons this morning, and I haven't seen her since shortly before tea-time." his mother informed him. "I'm worried...that's just not like her."

"Wait," Edmund blinked, realizing something. "isn't today one of her days to bring the tea-tray up to Peter's room?"

Mrs. Coulter shook her head. "No, I specifically told a nurse to do it today because I needed Susan to help me straighten out the guest list for an upcoming event. She promised to help me with it during tea, but she never showed."

If Edmund had known-or even suspected-that Susan was in love with Peter, if he hadn't been too wrapped up in his own problems to put two-and-two together, he wouldn't have said anything more on the subject. He was already setting up for one betrayal, there was no reason he had to throw his own sister into the bargain as well. However, he didn't know, and-quite innocently-he reminded his mother that all of the nurses had taken tea together at half-passed four after giving the children their cookies and milk at quarter-passed four, and that none of them had been absent.

"Why would she..." Mrs. Coulter's voice trailed off and her mouth seemed to tighten slightly, the golden monkey's fur getting quite bristled at nape of the neck.

"She probably just forgot." Edmund said quickly, not sure why he suddenly felt an intense urge to find his sister and tell her to run like the wind.

"See you later, dear, I've things to attend to." Mrs. Coulter's shimmering, ruby-coloured heels clicked and clacked heavily on the floor as she walked away.

Meanwhile, in Peter's room, Maugrim was sprawled out on his side next to the warm fire which seemed to have a particularly merry crackle about it today, watching the two lovers-having long forgotten about their tea which was surely stone cold by then-clasp hands, their chairs moved closer together, through half-closed eye-lids. He grunted, murmured, "Silly..." and closed his eyes all the way. He was not too disdainful; for while he still did not agree with it, being Susan's dæmon, he could not help feeling her pleasure in spite of his own loneliness. He had a strange feeling that his mistress had forgotten something, but he gave up trying to guess what it could be. It was so warm and toasty by the fire today, and his eyes felt like they were weighed down with sandbags.

Wordlessly, Susan leaned in to kiss the dæmonless boy she had fallen so hard for, their lips not even a full inch apart when a sharp, breathy noise from the doorway made them jump and look over their shoulders anxiously.

There stood Mrs. Coulter's golden monkey. It is rather unpleasant to hear any animal hissing for it usually means the creature is up to no good, or else very angry, but a monkey hissing is somewhat worse than most. It seemed to Peter that it was a cross between an overly-rusted tea kettle bubbling over on a poorly-maintained stove and a broken dog-whistle.

"Susan, I want to speak with you right away." her mother's voice said, the woman seeming to all but suddenly appear to the left of the doorway. Susan had no doubts that she had just seen them about to kiss-and even if she hadn't-though she clearly _had_ -her dæmon could have told her.

Peter watched Susan walk away slowly, Maugrim slinking after her in a manner better befitting a broken-in hound dog than a beautiful, half-wild, gray wolf. She didn't even say good-bye or so much as glance at him before she left, he noticed, something was wrong.

Mrs. Coulter led her daughter down to one of Bolvangar's finest retiring-rooms. Most of the rooms in the building-except for maybe the study Edmund had broken into-had something of a northern style to them, but this one had been remodeled as an especially accommodating sitting-room for Mrs. Coulter.

The old china-white, crude-cut fireplace had been removed and fixed up into a smoother, cream-coloured shape, one better suited to making the room warmer as well as nicer to look at. The rustic furniture had all been either given away or thrown out, new softer couches imported to replace them. Perhaps the most striking change was the gold-and-diamond chandelier that had been sent from a city near Jordan College. It was very beautiful, and most days Susan thought she rather liked it and admired her mother's expensive taste in selecting it, but at moments like these, when she was too nervous to fully appreciate the glamour she'd always loved so much growing up, she almost wished for a normal-looking lamp, one that didn't cast little dancing rainbows to the opposite walls.

"Have a seat, Susan, it's absurd to be standing up like a solider in your own home." Mrs. Coulter ordered, motioning with a flashing flick of her wrist at the couch across from the one she herself was about to sit on.

Knowing she was on dangerous ground, Susan refrained from pointing out that she had never really considered Bolvangar 'home'. At least not like the houses they had whenever they left the north and got to go to the great eastern cities-however much her mother might struggle to make their northern place stylish. Rather sheepishly, she took her seat across from her mother, Maugrim sitting on the floor by her legs in a very regal-looking position.

Fiddling with a stack of papers, Mrs. Coulter reached for her fashionable ebony-and-gold framed reading-glasses and clinked her tongue. "This seating chart is all wrong...I shall fire that event-planner when we return to our summer-home."

Susan didn't care about that event-planner; he was a tall, thin, sort of ugly-looking man who rolled just about every syllable he spoke so that it was nearly impossible to understand what he was saying until he repeated himself four more times, doing so in a mind-numbingly slow fashion.

Rubbing her forehead, Mrs. Coulter placed her glasses back down and lightly tossed the seating-chart over to the empty space on the couch at her dæmon's side. "Now, then, Susan, I wanted to talk to you about your behavior today...it wasn't terribly lady-like, darling."

Maugrim strained his neck to look up at his human. "You see?" he whispered. "You should have listened to me."

"Do be quiet, Maugrim." Susan whispered back, looking over at her mother's steady, unblinking blue eyes.

"A proper young lady ought never to miss her appointments for one matter." Mrs. Coulter went on. "And for another, I don't like to see you becoming overly-friendly with that boy, you know why he's here."

"I-" Susan started but her mother cut her off.

"You made a mistake; but you're sorry and I forgive you." Mrs. Coulter gave her daughter a warm smile. "Just try not to repeat it, repetitive flaws are a nasty blemish on a young woman."

Susan's brows sank into her lower forehead and she blinked. "No, you don't understand,"

"Understand what, dear?" Mrs. Coulter asked in a shockingly relaxed tone as though she'd already forgotten whatever it was they had been talking about only a few moments ago.

"What you saw...I mean..."

Maugrim clenched his jaw, half-afraid Susan would get nervous and come up with another metaphor, not sure he could stand it.

"I love him." Susan faltered weakly, her voice wavering.

Mrs. Coulter blinked back at her daughter, uncomprehending. "Love who, darling?"

"Do you think it's her _hearing_?" Maugrim muttered under his breath, knowing only Susan-his own human-would be able to hear him at that volume anyway. Being rather wary of the golden monkey, he didn't dare say anything sarcastic about Mrs. Coulter too loudly.

"Peter, of course." Susan said slowly, glancing down at Maugrim who's nose pointed upwards in a prim manner, then back at Mrs. Coulter.

Mrs. Coulter didn't say a word; her monkey-dæmon crept forward on the couch, climbing over to the edge of the glass coffee table positioned between the two couches, sinking some of his claws into a cork coaster.

"The boy with no dæmon." her eyes grew slightly misty and Maugrim looked up at her and whimpered.

"Susan, that boy is one the greatest scientific finds in over half a century, not a summer romance for you to chat about at dinner parties." she batted at the air as if swatting an invisible fly. The golden monkey looked over his shoulder and hissed at something unseen-probably it was a stray dust bunny or a feather escaped from a decorative pillow floating around in the air on the other side of the room.

Susan didn't bother mentioning that it wasn't summer-that it wasn't even spring for that matter-she just stared back at her mother angrily, hurt by her manner of brushing off how she felt. That wasn't what a good mother was supposed to say when her daughter fell in love, was it? Wasn't there supposed to be something supportive in that little speech? Then again, most girls didn't fall in love with a boy who had no dæmon, and most girls didn't have a mother as important as Mrs. Coulter.

"It's not like that." said Susan, when her voice finally returned to her.

"He's not the right one for you, Susan, you're not just anybody..." Mrs. Coulter smiled faintly and shook her head. "...you're my daughter. And years from now when this silly little crush you have is over and you're married to some wonderful, powerful, well-known man-perhaps with two know-it-all children of your own-you'll thank me for having this little talk with you."

"You talk about him as though he's not even a person," Susan's face felt hot and she knew she was at the edge of losing it. "like Peter's just a test-tube or something. He is a real person, mother, and he has feelings. I don't care that he doesn't have a dæmon; that doesn't make it right to just keep him in that room like a prisoner or something."

Maugrim let out a weak agreeing-bark but was silenced by the golden monkey's furious glare.

"And you know what else?" Susan was on a roll now and, ignoring her dæmon nudging her feet, quietly willing her to shut up, intended to keep going. "He loves me."

"You're getting far too worked up about this," Mrs. Coulter told her. "the matter is really very simple: you are simply going to have to tell that boy that you do not love him."

"Haven't you been listening to a word I just said?" Susan scowled, daring to dart her eyes cuttingly, not only at her mother, but also at the golden monkey.

"Yes, I have." Mrs. Coulter answered. "Now you have to listen to me, and as I am your mother, you are going to do as I say."

"I should have known." Susan said bitterly, forgetting herself. "It's not like you would know anything about it-you didn't even love father."

Mrs. Coulter looked slightly pained. "You needn't harp on things you'll never understand, Susan, now go get ready for supper."

"I'm not going to hurt him like you hurt father, you know that, right?" Susan said coldly, standing up and placing her hand on Maugrim's head to steady her shaking self.

The golden monkey very nearly sprung at her in a fury, but Mrs. Coulter put her hand on his back and shook her head, calming him down. "I didn't hurt your father."

"Oh, yes, I suppose the whole affair was just 'tough luck' on him?" Susan pursed her lips and tightened her grip on Maugrim's fur, a sneer forming. "He probably should have been more understanding about you sleeping with Lord Asriel."

"If you ever mention that man to be again, Susan Coulter, I will-" all of Mrs. Coulter's sweetness seemed to vanish and cold, hard rage filled her blue eyes; she wasn't used to being talked to like this. Her children had always both loved and feared her, and Susan had always been the easy one up until that point.

"You'll what? Let your dæmon attack me until I have an arm as bruised up as Edmund's?" Susan had seen her brother's arm, and though she had been upset about it, she hadn't quite found the strength to say anything regarding it until she found herself in the heat of the moment.

"Susan, if you do not stop going off the subject and obey me at once, we shall have an argument which I will win, do you understand?" Mrs. Coulter's voice came across as less angry, but just as strained.

The golden monkey leapt towards her but Mrs. Coulter didn't try to stop him this time. Terrified, Susan gasped and hopped out of the way, unwittingly doing the very thing the monkey wanted-letting go of Maugrim. It wasn't her he was trying to attack after all, it was her dæmon.

Maugrim let out a bay and Susan felt his throat tensing up as the monkey slowly started wrapping his golden arms across the wolf's neck.

"Let go!" shrieked Susan, about to run forward to help Maugrim get free when both of her wrists were suddenly seized and held tight by Mrs. Coulter.

It might seem a little silly to imagine a monkey wrestling with a wolf and winning, but all things considered, there were many reasons why poor Maugrim didn't stand a chance. The major point simply being, the monkey was slick and had gotten the creature by the neck-tearing at his ears whenever he tried to squirm free or snap his teeth at his long limbs.

"Susan!" cried Maugrim, desperately imploring his human to help him.

But she couldn't move an inch, her mother still held onto her as she struggled to be strong and endure it while Maugrim started to get dizzy from lack of air.

She couldn't stand it for long, though, soon she was steadily weeping; her own breath feeling labored. "Stop it, please!" Her eyes locked with her mother's eyes but they remained unmoved.

"It hurts," wept Susan as the monkey's claws dug into Maugrim's left ear again.

"You'll do as I tell you." it was a statement, not a question, she already knew Susan would obey her now.

"I will..." Susan stammered, feeling weak and drained, her cheeks nearly purple from labored breathing and the rest of her as pale-white as the snow that always surrounded Bolvangar.

Mrs. Coulter held on for a moment longer, waiting.

"I promise..." Susan sobbed, gulping as the monkey slowly began to unwrap his arms from around Maugrim.

"Good." Mrs. Coulter let go of her wrists and Susan sank to her knees.

Maugrim, finally freed from the golden monkey's clutches, barreled over to Susan and leaned against her. She threw her arms around him, her tears dampening his mangled gray fur. "Oh, Maugrim."

"And before supper, Susan, we really must talk about those seating arrangements-also, I think we should ask them to serve more ice with their drinks this time, don't you?" Mrs. Coulter sat back down on the couch and smiled as if she'd never moved from it and nothing had happened.


	17. Breaking hearts

"Ella, check to see if the coast is clear." Edmund whisper-called to his dæmon who was flying just a foot away.

The elegant, graceful snowy owl flapped her wings a little harder and made her way over to a small wooden ledge about the size of gargoyle's post in the middle of the hallway. She twisted her head all the way around and took a good look at everything-no one was coming.

"All clear, Ed." she called back to her human.

"I cannot believe I'm doing this." Edmund mumbled to his feet as he forced himself to march down the deserted hall, towards Lucy's room which would-he was fairly sure-be vacant for at least another half hour. Part of him wished desperately that she had taken it with her, that the leather pouch containing the silver pocket watch was strapped to her waist so that he couldn't steal it, but at the same time another part of him, loyal to-and afraid of-his mother, knew it would be taken no matter what. If not this time, then there would be another and another until he succeeded. He had to do this. He could only hope that raw, grim determination was enough to pull it off.

Ella flew off the ledge and landed with her bird-claws around the doorknob of Lucy's room. It was a little small for her to remain comfortably on for any extended amount of time, but she didn't have to stay there very long before Edmund's arm was stretched out to turn the knob and she could rest on his shoulder, rubbing her feathers against the distraught boy's neck consolingly.

During this, in another room, Maugrim, licking his paws and wiping at his still-stinging ears with them, watched his human changing her dress in front of the mirror, pouting at the blood-shot eyed image that peered back at her.

"What do you think of this one, Maugrim?" she asked finally, arching her neck as if that would somehow help her look less blotchy-and, oddly enough, it sort of did because she had twisted herself into the shadow cast by the wide corner of her bedroom's fireplace.

"I thought we were ending things with the dæmonless boy." Maugrim groaned, giving his wounds an extra-hard lick.

"We _are_ ," Susan told him, squinting at the dress because it was older and she hadn't worn it in a while-she wasn't sure if it still hung right over her body. "and I am going to tell him it's over, but I will do so in a very classy manner."

"With your bosom jolting out of the front of that dress?" Maugrim snarled sarcastically, in too much pain to think of being sympathetic to anyone-even his own mistress.

"Alright, so I've grown a little since the last time I put this on." Susan agreed begrudgingly.

"Around the bust," Maugrim rolled his eyes and spoke in an almost sing-songy growl.

"Oh, shut it, Maugrim!" Susan snapped, taking off the dress and hurling it at her dæmon's head.

Peering up from under the scarlet-and-emerald fabric, the wolf shook his head. "Don't take it out on me, I didn't do this to us."

Susan didn't respond, she bit her trembling lower lip and tried not to cry as she slipped on another dress, a newer one. It was a stylish thing, made of rose-coloured brocade with pale white-and-pink lace trimming around the collar and cuffs. Its train was remarkably fashionable and about three to four inches longer than necessity called for.

Maugrim barked and scuffed his right claw against the side of the mirror.

"There, that's better." Susan decided, noticing that this one was both attractive and succeeded at covering up her chest.

"You're not going to make me wear a bow, are you?" Maugrim moaned, remembering one time that she did.

"I was seven, Maugrim," said Susan, strolling over to the pearl-and-jade vanity where she kept her make-up. "it's a miracle I didn't forget you were male and put you in a skirt."

"It was humiliating." Maugrim sulked, just needing something to be angry about that wasn't as serious as their current situation.

"Oh, it was a long time ago, get over it." Susan picked up two different shades of eyeliner and puzzled over which one to put on.

"Don't wear any eye make-up." Maugrim warned her.

"Why not?"

"Because, if you start to cry, it'll run and smudge." the wolf pointed out.

"Oh." Susan sighed and gave her dæmon a loving pat on the head, careful to avoid his ears, knowing how badly they still hurt him. "What would I do without you?"

"Whatever." Maugrim muttered, never one for love and flattery.

Putting down the brown make-up pencil, Susan reached for a tube of lipstick. "What do you think of this one?"

"Don't care." said Maugrim, apathetically.

She had to apply her lipstick twice because the first time her hand was shaking so badly that she went outside the lines. Wiping the mistake off, she tried again and nodded at its reasonably-good result.

The girl staring back at her in the mirror had been completely transformed from a timid, broken Bolvangar girl, to a perfectly-groomed lady who could have passed for a princess if she'd wanted to. If for nothing more than to stall for time, a few more precious moments before she had to give up the boy she loved for ever, she brushed her already combed hair again and curled the tips, debating on whether or not a ribbon would make her look too childish.

"Stop procrastinating." Maugrim sighed, stretching his front paws and letting out a dog-like yawn.

"I'm not." Susan lied, slamming the brush down-the ribbon tied around its handle-and walking over to the door. "Come, Maugrim."

"Coming, Susan." Maugrim, sensing her unhappiness found himself walking with his head low and his tail down, nearly between his legs.

They found Peter taking a walk down one of the few hallways he was actually allowed in (Oddly enough it also happened to be the hallway paralleled to the one Edmund and Ella were sneaking around on the other side of the building), with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Go on, then." Maugrim urged his mistress, nudging her skirt with his nose.

"I can't remember what I planned to say." Susan whispered, trying to think back to the note-cards she had written up and studied. She remembered vaguely that they had included a metaphorical phrase about how cats chased mice and hens laid eggs and how some things just had to do with one another and how she felt that, at this current time, she had nothing to do with Peter. It occurred to her suddenly how mean that sounded, and she cursed herself for not thinking it all the way through. Maybe it sounded better in the context of the speech as a whole, but she couldn't remember it, so that point became quite moot.

"You practiced in front of the mirror for two hours!" Maugrim protested, shaking his head. " _I_ could do that speech."

"Would you?" Susan blurted out, looking down at her dæmon with a hopeful expression.

"No!" Maugrim growled, batting at the side of her leg as if to slap some sense into her. "I will not break up with him for you."

"I've forgotten everything except the stupid 'cats chase mice' bit!" said Susan, still watching Peter as he got closer and closer to them. Soon, he'd be sure to notice their heads sticking out from behind the pillar.

"I told you it was stupid." Maugrim said smugly, rolling his eyes.

"Alright, you were right and I was wrong." she gave in, rolling her own eyes half-mockingly. "Are you happy now?"

"Practically doing back-flips."

"Susan," Peter noticed Maugrim's nose sniffing at something behind the pillar.

"Now what, genius?" Susan snapped at her dæmon shortly, turning to Peter and giving him the fakest fake smile in the history of the fake world.

"Are you alright?" he noticed she didn't seem like her normal self and wondered what the matter was.

"I'm fine, I just need to talk to you about something." Susan said, wondering, in spite of herself, if he liked her dress.

Maugrim, knowing what she was thinking about, sighed to himself. This was going to be the hardest thing his mistress had ever had to do, and quite frankly, he wasn't at all confident that she could pull it off.

"Okay," said Peter, taking a step closer to her. "do you want to talk in my room or-"

She shook her head quickly. "No, I'd rather discuss it here."

"Sure, go on." he nodded encouragingly.

Why did he have to be so _nice_ about it? Why did he have to stand there and listen to her when she was about to break his heart? Couldn't he be a little less understanding? Susan thought she was going to be sick if her stomach attempted any more summersaults.

"I..." she debated over saying the stupid 'hens lay eggs' bit or just coming up with something new off the top of her head. "...I'm really, really sorry."

Maugrim took a few steps back, as if slowly distancing himself from Peter. This would have visually made more sense if Peter had had a dæmon for Maugrim to back away from and to sadly bid good-bye to, but he didn't, so the wolf improvised.

"For what?" What was she apologizing about?

"For..." she couldn't look him in the eyes while speaking. "For leading you on and lying to you."

"Lying to me?" his forehead crinkled in confusion. "About what?"

"I don't love you." Susan inhaled deeply and closed her eyes for a moment. "All those things I said, I didn't mean them."

Peter looked like he'd been punched in the stomach. "What?"

"It's not like we were ever really in love anyway," Susan tried, knowing that if she didn't force a partly-cheerful tone into her voice she'd start sobbing. "we're much too young for that, and one day-maybe even sooner than we think-"

"Susan Coulter, don't you dare imply that I don't love you!" Peter reprimanded her sharply. "That's not for you to say. You can feel any way you like; you can love me one day and stop caring about me the next, but that doesn't mean you get to pick and choose my feelings, too."

Susan was crying now; tears rolling down her cheeks and sliding off of her chin. "I can't see you anymore."

"Susan-" he reached for her hand, clearly still hurt by her words but caught between that and the impulse to comfort her.

"Come on, Maugrim, we have to go." Susan sniffled, turning around and lifting up the back of her train so she wouldn't trip over it as she hurried away with her dæmon bounding at her heels to keep up.

As for Peter, he stood there with a broken, stunned look on his face, wondering why she suddenly didn't love him anymore.

In the meantime, Edmund had searched through all of Lucy's draws-feeling rather guilty, of course-with no success. There was no sign of that watch or its leather pouch anywhere.

"No luck?" Ella asked, landing on the top of an oak wardrobe in the corner of the room.

"None." Edmund told her, shutting a draw. "All I could find was a pile of under-shifts."

"Did you try under her pillow?" asked Ella, turning her head over to where Lucy's bed was.

"Why would she keep it under-" Edmund stopped mid-thought, remembering that he had, on several occasions, seen Lucy's dæmon, Reepicheep, hide the pouch under there.

Without waiting for orders from her human, Ella flapped her wings and soared over to where the pillow was. Swooping down, she lifted it up with her claws and dropped it at the foot of the bed. Sure enough, there was the pouch-with the pocket watch safely tucked away inside.

Lifting the flap, Edmund slowly pulled out the glittering silver object and, placing the empty leather pouch back down on the bed, headed for the door.

"Come on, you've got the watch, now let's get out of here, before-" Ella stopped talking and let out a frightened bird-squawk; the door had opened and a little brown mouse with a golden, red-feathered band around one ear walked in, Lucy just behind him.

"Oh, no." Edmund whispered to himself, knowing he couldn't hide what he had been trying to do. She had seen him heading for the door, he couldn't lie and say he was just looking at it, she'd know. Even someone as trusting and innocent as Lucy would know he was trying to steal it.

"Edmund," Lucy whispered, her voice wavering and her eyes wide. "How could you?"

"I'm sorry, Lucy." Edmund said, his face bleak and his words forced. "I had to."

"You didn't!" Lucy bawled as Reepicheep's angry eyes darted over towards Ella, whom he had trusted just as Lucy had trusted Edmund.

"You don't understand-"

"I understand perfectly," Lucy started to cry, unable to believe that her friend had just betrayed her. "you don't care about me, you just wanted my watch because you think it's to do with Dust."

"Lucy, it's so much more complicated than just that," Edmund stammered, sliding the pocket watch over to one hand and attempting to put the other one on Lucy shoulder.

She shuddered and pushed him away. "How could you?" she said again.

Shifting into a silver-winged, golden-eyed, brown-feathered hawk, Reepicheep flew over to Edmund's hand and snatched the pocket watch away from him using his claws. Ella charged at Reepicheep, trying to get the pocket watch back from him, only to knock it down onto the floor. Lucy got to it first, and not knowing what else she could do, ran out of the room with it, Reepicheep flying after her.

"Lucy, wait!" Edmund cried out, knowing perfectly well that she wouldn't.

In the parallel hallway, Peter, still thinking about what Susan had just said to him, heard a horrible sound coming from another part of the building; a sort of muffled crying. He realized then that he had, without meaning to, headed down towards one of the forbidden corridors. Although he had been fully prepared to turn right around, he felt instead that he had to find out who was crying. It sounded sort of like a little girl, and he thought it might be Lucy-hurt or something.

With no nurses on duty to stop him, Peter ran passed several doors until he came to a small, one-bed room with a ripped window-shade in it. The sliver of moonlight piercing through the tear in the shade reveled a weak-looking little girl-child sitting on the bed. She was about a year younger than Lucy with a pale little face and scared, vacant eyes that seemed to look right through Peter, barely noticing him.

"Have you seen Isi?" the girl whispered hoarsely. "I don't know where my Isi is."

It was at that moment that Peter realized what was wrong with the girl. She was holding a small horseshoe-shaped pillow in her arms the same way he had seen Lucy clutching Reepicheep so many times growing up. This poor, sickly little girl had lost her dæmon. Or, Peter thought darkly, had him taken away from her.

Tears came up into Peter's eyes as he reached down and stroked the little girl's hand. "It's all right, you're going to be fine." His voice broke and he wondered if he was unwittingly telling a lie-she sure didn't _look_ like she was going to be fine.

"Where's Isi?" she asked again, holding his hand but without seeming to realize she was doing it. "I need my Isi."

"Come on," Peter helped the little girl up onto her feet. "Let me help you."

"You seen my Isi?" She murmured, a faint spark of hope coming up into her eyes.

She wobbled so much that in the end Peter had to carry her out of the room because she couldn't stand up without falling over. "I didn't wanna have any operation, they made me have it..."

"Who?" Peter asked, so surprised that his arms almost gave way and he nearly dropped her.

"Where's Isi? Did they take him? Where'd they take him?"

"I have to get out of this god-forsaken place." Peter decided, thinking that he had to take this poor child, find Lucy, and get away from Bolvangar as quickly as his legs would carry him. Was this what they were doing here? Was this what Mrs. Coulter and her two children were really involved in? Cutting away children's dæmons?

A familiar hawk flew by his head just as Lucy came banging into him, running down the hallway, clutching her silver pocket watch, too blinded by tears to see where she was going.

"Lucy!" Peter breathed a sigh of relief. "Listen to me, we have to get away from this place at once."

"He lied to me..." Lucy's face went white and her lips parted, recognizing Jill Pole as she rested limply in Peter's arms. "...about _everything_." It hadn't been a dream at all! They were cutting away kid's dæmons, and now they'd done it to poor little Jill.

"You seen my Isi?" Jill whispered, not even recognizing Lucy.

"What are we going to do?" Reepicheep asked, landing on Lucy's shoulder and looking down dumbly at Jill, uncertain of how to comfort someone who'd lost their dæmon.

"We'll have to swipe some food, maybe take a reindeer and sleigh, we can't get away from this place on foot." Peter informed them as Jill started whimpering and stroking the pillow she still carried in her arms, leaning her head back on Peter's shoulder.

"What sort of hearts can these people have?" Lucy wept, remembering as it all came flooding back to her how close she had come to losing Reepicheep.

"They have no hearts." Peter answered, looking back and forth from his little sister to the half-child in his arms. "None whatsoever."


	18. Escape

Stealing food had been a little difficult because they hadn't known where to find a kitchen and, in the end, had been left with no choice but to take food from where ever it might have been left out. Many a left-over scrap or a forgotten block of cheese disappeared from dinning rooms and tea-trays that evening. What was left from unwanted fruit baskets were emptied into a burlap sack Peter had found under a chair from the room where he'd discovered the half-child. He wondered, not without a violent shudder, if that very sack hadn't once belonged to another child cut away from their dæmon. In his mind, he briefly envisioned a little, fair-haired boy clutching the sack the same way Jill clutched her pillow.

That imaginary little boy became so real in Peter's mind that afterwards, when he finally felt he could talk about it, he spoke of him and gave him a name, 'Eustace', which he choose because that was what Lucy told him Jill's friend had been called before he'd died after having his dæmon cut away.

Lucy tried to find food, too, though even then she felt bad about stealing it; so she merely wrapped up a small bundle of sugar cookies and butter biscuits that had been left in her room by a nurse along with a glass of milk. Taking those didn't qualify as stealing, she knew, because they had been intended for her to eat anyway. She had been worried that Edmund would still be there when she went back to get them, but he wasn't and she made haste-lest he return and catch her. She noticed her leather pouch was gone, however, and had no doubts as to who had taken it.

When she finally met up with Peter again, she noticed that he had placed poor little Jill Pole on a fainting-couch so she could rest comfortably while he packed.

"Will she be alright?" Lucy asked anxiously. The girl seemed more lifeless than ever, except for her occasional mutters inquiring about Isi.

"Of course she will." Peter said automatically, making a roll out of a pile of woolen blankets and holding it together with some pieces of rope he'd found, though he didn't really believe that.

"We need to find her dæmon, Peter, she needs him." said Lucy, tears freely rolling down her face.

"There's no hope of us doing that and getting out of here, Lu." Peter told her, tears shinning brightly in his eyes, too. "Our only hope is to sneak out of here, taking her with us as she is. They're not stupid here, any dæmons they've cut away are probably under lock and key."

"Hang in there, Jill," Lucy whispered in a choked up voice. "we'll set it right somehow, we'll get them back for this."

Without thinking, Reepicheep shifted into a raccoon, having long forgotten that it was one of Isi's favorite shapes.

As soon as Jill's eyes locked with the raccoon, they lit up, and weak as she still seemed, there was the faintest trace of colour coming back to her cheeks. "Isi?"

"Reepicheep, that's it!" Lucy cried out, her eyes widening as a new idea began to take shape in her mind. "You can comfort her and make her stronger."

"I'm not _her_ dæmon, I'm yours." Reepicheep reminded her, shaking his head sadly. "Besides, you know people shouldn't touch dæmons that don't belong to them, it's not really allowed."

Lucy didn't give up so easily; she could only think about how desperately Jill needed their help. "You touch Peter sometimes, and he's never had a dæmon; I can share with Jill for right now-it might save her life, Reep! I don't care about any stupid taboo that says it's unlucky-not now."

"Isi..." Jill murmured again, looking very intently at Reepicheep.

Ever so gently, Reepicheep climbed over to the poor half-girl and put himself in her shivering, cold-to-the-touch arms. For a moment, she seemed more relaxed, but it was apparent within a few moments that she knew it wasn't really her isi she was holding. She mumbled something about it, clinging to Reepicheep as if he were hers all the same.

Lucy felt more uncomfortable than she'd expected to feel while Jill lightly caressed Reepicheep's fur, but she did her best to ignore it, reminding herself that she was helping a friend. For a split-second she remembered when Edmund had touched Reepicheep, and how it was one of the few times she hadn't minded another person touching her dæmon. Then, she was angry again. He was probably in on all of this, he was working with them, the horrible child-cutters.

Once everything was packed and they were all bundled up in their fur coats (Jill was wrapped up in a comforter because they didn't have a coat to give her), Lucy took Reepicheep back into her own arms, her heart breaking as she watched Jill's face fall, no longer able to pretend that Reepicheep could take Isi's place even for a little while. Clinging onto the horseshoe pillow again, Jill felt herself being lifted up by Peter while Lucy carried the bags.

They were almost to the front doors of the station when three guards appeared in front of them, standing in their way. Peter held his breath, positive they would ask him what exactly he thought he was doing carrying all of those things to the front door-thankful that they couldn't see Jill hidden in the comforter, looking like little more than an oddly-shaped bundle.

Suddenly, without warning, before the guards could say a word, an alarm went off and the lights flickered rapidly. This gave Peter-who didn't waste any time-a chance to make a dash for the door, Lucy following close behind.

Just as they were slipping passed the glass paneling to the snowy world outside, Lucy realized that the flicking lights had stopped and the alarm slowly started to get softer-sounding. Wondering who had tripped the alarm to being with, not to mention started messing with the lights, Lucy risked a glance over her shoulder and caught a fleeting glimpse of a boy's hand on the light-switch and what looked like an owl's claw on the handle of the red hallway-alarm before Peter pulled her away.

Running until they were panting for breath, Reepicheep in the form of a swift-footed red fox, Lucy and Peter made their way around the main outside of the building over to what was presumably the barn where the sleighs and reindeer were kept. Inside, the air reeked of animal urine and wet hay. They didn't dare turn on any lights and get themselves caught for all their pains, so they groped about in the darkness until they came to an iron-railing sleigh that, while in reasonably good repair, didn't seem to have been used for a while and likely would not be terribly missed. The iron railing had a slight break in the back of it which cut into Peter's hands as he pulled it out from behind a pile of what seemed to be miss-matched shovel sets and dry straw, after lowering Jill Pole into the back of the sleigh, biting onto his lower lip to keep from crying out.

"Do you know how to drive one of those?" Lucy asked her brother; when she was younger, she assumed he could do anything, but the older she got, the more she realized he was only human and worried about him.

"Not uphill and not with animals pulling it, no." Peter admitted dryly, helping Lucy and Reep up into the back so that they could sit beside Jill.

"We're doomed." Reepicheep whispered, nudging the half-girl's arm to just to make sure she hadn't suddenly died on them.

"Are we going to try to go back to Lord Digory's college or someplace else, Peter?" Lucy wanted to know.

"Anywhere's better than this place." Peter said, trying to figure out which reindeer to take and how to go about it without startling the naturally-skittish creatures.

"Bottles and blue-bells, you're going to need a better plan than that." A deep voice from behind them said.

"Who's there?" Lucy gasped, not able to tell if the voice was joking with them or else threatening them.

"Show yourself, whoever you are." Peter spoke boldly with a confidence he did not entirely feel, inwardly praying that it was not a guard or anyone else that might be stronger than he was.

An open half-door so small it could have been mistaken for a ground-window, slammed shut and a little man-a dwarf-with a red beard and a kindly look about his grumpy, stern, weather-beaten face stepped forward.

"What do you want with us?" demanded Peter, folding his arms across his chest and planting himself protectively in front of Lucy and Jill.

"I have orders to give you this," he handed Peter something made of brown, cloth-like paper that had been rolled up and tied with red string.

"What is it?" Lucy asked, holding on tighter to Reepicheep who was currently in the form of a small spaniel sitting in her lap, squinting suspiciously at the dwarf.

Peter pulled off the string and his eyes widened as he screwed up his eyes to examine the paper in the rum lighting. "It's a map!"

The dwarf nodded, seeming to be holding back from showing any emotion towards them though Lucy got the sort of idea that, deep down, he was rather glad.

"I was also told to give you _these_." said the dwarf, handing over three large round insulated silver mugs.

Lucy took one-reveling in the feel of its warmth against her chilly hands-and opened the top; a warm chocolate smell tickled her nostrils. "Hot cocoa?"

"I believe the other two are tea and coffee." the dwarf informed them helpfully.

"Who sent you?" Peter asked, raising an eyebrow.

The dwarf didn't answer him.

"Wait, aren't you _Edmund's_ manservant?" Lucy gasped, suddenly remembering the red dwarf-the one nicknamed 'DLF'-she'd so often seen waiting on the Coulter boy.

"I am." Trumpkin said shortly, starting to harness up two reindeer he was slowly leading out of their stalls, stroking their sides reassuringly to keep them calm. "These two should be strong enough to pull this sleigh; apart from the railing it's not a heavy model."

"Why are you helping us?" Peter asked point-blank, wanting to trust Trumpkin, but wary of him all the same.

"Edmund sent you," Lucy murmured softly, blinking at the little man as he double-checked to make sure their sacks and rolls were not going to fall off from where the railing came to an end. "didn't he?"

"I think you had better get going." Trumpkin told them, avoiding the question as he handed Peter the reins and briefly explained how to use a small crop to make the reindeer go a little faster if an emergency came up.

"Tell him thank you from me, okay?" Lucy shot Trumpkin a pleading-glance.

He didn't answer out loud but he took a step closer to the sleigh and mouthed, "I will."

Lucy sighed, pulling herself closer to Jill. This was it, they were leaving Bolvangar. If they were successful, it would be for ever. She wasn't sure what awaited them. Somehow, in her heart of hearts, she knew they wouldn't be going back to their own world any time soon; there was too much to sort out in this one first. All those poor children with no dæmons, Edmund Coulter living with his mother who didn't treat him right, Jill Pole weakening, and Dust-Lucy wanted to know what Dust really was.

"And I want to know who that Lion in the book Edmund's mother had is, too." Lucy whispered to Reepicheep as the sleigh sped farther and farther away from Bolvangar.

"We'll set it right someday, Lu." Reepicheep told his human, shifting into a black mouse small enough for her to cup in her hands. "You, me, Peter, and Jill-we'll set it right." He blinked at Lucy as she yawned softly into her coat sleeve. "Just let them try to stop us."


	19. Spy flies

The air didn't seem to get much warmer even as the sun steadily rose; and though Bolvangar was a good distance behind them, Peter still wore a stiff, hurt, even fearful expression on his face as he-just barely-managed to direct the reindeer and keep the sleigh moving.

Lucy hadn't spoken for a while because she'd been in a sort of half-asleep daze, shifting a glazed-eyed glance back and forth from Peter to a pale, dozing Jill as uncomprehendingly as a half-wit, too tired to think properly.

Feeling his hands freezing up on him, Peter blew on them lightly, watching his breath take form as a dusty-looking, snow-coloured cloud a few inches away, and wiggled his fingers around the reins to ward off the numbness. Feeling numb on the inside-which he did-was quite alright, he decided, feeling numb on the _outside_ could result in an accident. And he wouldn't take a chance like that with two children in tow; not with poor little Jill Pole and certainly not with Lucy-he'd made a promise to protect her; even now he was determined to keep doing so.

"Do you think they've sent someone after us?" Lucy finally whispered, some broken thoughts slowly reshaping themselves in her mind.

"I don't know." said Peter, looking up at the gray sky over-head.

"Are we going south?" Lucy asked, sitting up a little straighter.

"Hopefully." Peter turned and gave her a small smile that was slightly forced though its intentions towards her were thoroughly genuine.

"Do you suppose it would do any harm to have breakfast now?" she didn't want to disturb him, but her stomach was rumbling non-stop now and it couldn't hurt to wake up Jill and try to get her to eat something, too.

"See that sort of boulder thing just a little ways off?" Peter motioned over to a thick-set stone fairly encased in glittering clear-blue ice. "Once we get there, we can stop and eat."

"Jill," Lucy gently shook the half-girl awake.

"You found Isi yet?" she mumbled automatically, not looking terribly hopeful as she searched Lucy's face for an answer.

"No," said Lucy, dejectedly. "not yet."

Reepicheep shifted into a raccoon, not sure what other shapes Isi had liked to take, but this time, Jill only smiled for a minute or so and then lost all interest, even in him.

She'll feel better once we stop and get something to eat, she must be hungry, Lucy thought, wishing something more could be done. At this point she was feeling so miserable about all that had happened that she very nearly thought that if she could give Reepicheep up to Jill, to make her well again, she would. But it was a moot notion anyhow, and besides, Reepicheep was hers and hers alone. He was _her_ dæmon, _not_ Jill Pole's.

Breakfast was a simple affair; a little cheese and fruit-and a couple of butter biscuits for good measure-washed down with tea for Lucy and coffee for Peter. They tried to get Jill to have some fruit but she shook her head-even muttered twice that she didn't like the beastly stuff. She didn't seem to dislike cheese, however, and yet she refused to even nibble at that, either. In the end, Peter did successfully coax her into drinking a bit of tea, and little as that was to pin their relief and hope on, both Pevensie siblings did so.

Once they were moving again, Jill started to cough and heave so violently that Lucy wondered that she didn't vomit up the sips of tea they'd been so comforted over. She fell asleep again a few minutes later, her arms around the horseshoe pillow once more.

A wind storm kicked up at five-passed noon, scaring the reindeer and making them all but completely unresponsive, bucking endlessly at their harness. At a loss as to what do to next, Peter was tempted to cut the harness off completely so that there would be no chance of the reindeer going crazy and dragging the sleigh off any old way. But then, if he did that, they would be stranded-stranded with a weak-possibly dying-seven year old in the back. Not very good prospects. But if he didn't let the reindeer go, he knew there was no way someone with his lack of skill and experience with the creatures would be able to get control of them again-they might pull the sleigh right off an icy cliff for all could predict. Much to his surprise-and relief-the spooked reindeer seemed to steady themselves before he could lift the harness, captivated, in wide-eyed distraction, watching two small metal objects which seemed to have wings of a sort buzzing towards their sleigh.

A little over an hour earlier, back at Bolvangar, Mrs. Coulter had entered one of the nurses' plainly-styled retiring rooms with quite a furious glower on her face.

The nurses and other workers quivered as they stood up from their metal chairs and greeted her respectfully. They could see that she was upset and none of them wanted to get on the wrong side of her; especially not today after her latest discovery, a healthy boy with no dæmon, had escaped.

"Does anyone wish to explain to me how on earth that boy and his sister not only managed to get passed the guards, but were also able to take a child fresh from having an Intercision with them last night?" Mrs. Coulter demanded, taking a seat in a metal chair with a plastic seat one of the male nurses had just pulled out for her.

"Mrs. Coulter," said a pale-skinned nurse with a flat pug nose which appeared to be a mite too large for her small-framed face. "We believe something went wrong with the alarm and electricity systems in the building-it confused the guards."

"They let this happen because they were _confused_?" Mrs. Coulter's brows arched in a coy, irritated manner, and her golden monkey swatted angrily at that nurse's dæmon, a trembling, skinny-looking, hairless dog about the size of an eight-week-old kitten.

"Mrs. Coulter, my lady," said a much calmer, even somewhat melodious, voice belonging to the same tall man who had greeted Lucy when she'd first arrived at the Experimental Station. "I hope you realize the question is moot. There isn't much of a chance of them getting far in this cold region, even if they did take a sleigh and reindeers. Besides, the child who had the operation is unlikely to live through a full day exposed to such a climate in her-unfortunately-weakened state."

Mrs. Coulter's eyes glinted at the man for a few chilling moments before the look in them changed completely as she said, "Nevertheless, they must be found-located and rescued-as quickly as possible."

"Shall we send guards out for them at once, Mrs. Coulter?" asked the nurse with the hairless dog-dæmon, watching as the golden monkey shuffled through some files that had been left out on the table in the middle of the room.

"No need." Mrs. Coulter told her, standing up and walking over to the front of the doorway where she had-without them realizing it-hidden something covered by a small bolt of red silk cloth with a green-ivy embroidery around its borders. "Thankfully, I have this all under control."

"What is it?" one nurse whispered to another who shrugged her shoulders-not knowing what it could be anymore than her co-worker did.

The golden monkey cleared his throat, almost as if he intended to speak, but then instead of speaking, merely wandered over to his human, climbed up her arm and snatched the silk cloth away, tossing it onto the floor.

Now they could see what their boss-their leader, their inspiration, their ideal, and their greatest fear-was holding: a small wooden box with curious carvings of sharp-looking leaves and snowflakes engraved on its lid. Although it otherwise seemed to be a rather old box, perhaps dating back many a good decade at least, as she opened it the hinges had a creak more like that of a brand-new box being opened for the first time than of a rusted, often-used holder being taken out again in a time of need.

The inside of the box was lined with very fine, very dark, purple velvet to protect the two glittering objects resting side by side in there. They were not pieces of jewelry though they might have looked like very expensive brooches of a sort to an untrained eye, except that they had no pin on their opposite sides. Made of pure gold and shimmering crystal, they were shaped like very large flies with autumn-golden wings so elegantly carved they looked more suitable for a fairy than for an insect. The one on the right had a green-coloured back while the one of the left was pure clear-white.

"My word!" exclaimed the tall man, clearly impressed.

"Yes," Mrs. Coulter smiled, closing the box again and turning to leave the room so that she could carry it out into the hallway and then outside the building itself. "they'll seek them out like bees to honey."

Once she was out-of-doors, peering up at the winter sky, she lifted the lid of the box again, this time slowly pulling something out of each fly, signaling to their clockwork that it was time for them to awaken.

"Find them," said Mrs. Coulter as the two glittering flies buzzed and flapped their perfect wings, zooming away into the snowy tundra.

And the golden monkey grinned at his mistress, knowing-just as she did-that these flies never failed to reach their targets- _never_.

The flies traveled quickly; they did not need to stop to eat or drink. Their kind needed no nourishment-not like a _living_ thing. Soon they came to a sleigh with reindeer who seemed just short of going quite mad. On the sleigh were three children: a boy of fourteen or so, a girl of eight with a mouse-dæmon, and a half-girl of seven. Ignoring the half-girl, the clear-backed one landed on the eight-year-old's arm while his green-backed twin-if one could honestly describe creatures of that sort as being 'twins'-settled on the shoulder of the dæmonless boy.

"What is it?" Lucy wondered aloud as Reepicheep walked over and sniffed at the clear-backed fly.

"Don't know." her dæmon answered, mystified. "It looks sort of like a horse-fly made of gold and jewels, doesn't it?"

The green-backed one happened to have a stinger which it was ever so slowly preparing to stick into Peter's lower neck, carefully shifting and bending each one of its delicate legs into the right position, latching onto the sleeve of his fur coat so that it might crouch and accomplish its goal.

Then, just before anything else could happen, a loud roar boomed in their ears. A stunning, female snow-leopard came bounding into view, her teeth bared, growling ferociously.

At first both Peter and Lucy thought it was a real wild animal, hungry for her next meal and intent on hunting them, but Reepicheep, after only a second of careful examination realized that it appeared to be, not a wild, free creature, but a dæmon just as he himself was. Sure enough, a man dressed in layers of jackets and over-coats lined with thick fur, hopped up from behind a hill, his wool-gloved hands holding up a long, brownish-black rifle.

"Don't move!" the man ordered harshly, his rifle's aim slowly shifting towards Peter's direction.

Lucy was so afraid that she wet herself and felt uncomfortable for the rest of the day, though she paid it no mind at the time. She looked over to Jill to see if she was scared, too, but she was just resting with her eyes half-closed and did not seem to have noticed either the flies or the man with the snow-leopard dæmon standing a few feet away.

Peter wanted to say something-anything-to this man so as to calm him down and avoid getting shot (who would watch over Lucy and the half-girl if he was killed?), but his lips felt paralyzed, he couldn't make them move.

Without another word, the man pulled the trigger-the bullet flew through the air heading straight for Peter. The poor boy thought for sure that he would be hit in the neck and the world would go black instantly; instead, the bullet hit the fly resting on his shoulder, knocking it down into the back of the sleigh. A few sparks flew up from it and its legs whirled and shook a few times like a wind-up toy that runs into walls, an oozy green liquid slowly dripping out of it. Startled by the gunshot, the reindeer both reared and let out a sound very like a horse's neigh. Strangely enough, however, they didn't attempt to run and drag the sleigh away-for whatever reason.

The clear-backed fly on Lucy's arm let out a sharp buzz and spread its wings so it could fly away. The man lifted his rifle and shot at the fly even as it attempted to zoom out of his weapon's reach. The sound of the gold-medal fly hitting the snow in the distance came echoing back as a rather eerie-sounding, _ploop_. The man's dæmon growled and started running over the hill to where it had landed; the man followed because he and his dæmon could not be quite that far apart comfortably. This time, one of the reindeer did lose their head and Peter, finally regaining a little of his senses, had to remove that half of the harness so that it could take off freely. The other reindeer did not panic, and so it remained with them.

A minute later, the snow-leopard dæmon came bounding back towards the sleigh with the clear-backed gold fly in her mouth, dangling stiff and unmoving. Her human looked pleased with himself. His coat's fur-trimmed hood had blown back during his run, and they could see him more clearly now. He was a thin-cheeked, fair-skinned chap with blue eyes and blond hair which grew both on the top of his head and all over his face in the form of a beard. Obviously just as wild as his dæmon, there were those who would have found his presence over-whelming and not have been able to bear it. Lucy herself might have burst into tears if she hadn't been so captivated by the beauty of his dæmon; her gorgeous cat-face, her powerful-looking muzzle, those round almost pearl-like ears, they were positively glorious to behold. Surely no one with a dæmon like that could be all bad, Lucy thought to herself before remembering that even horrible people like Mrs. Coulter could have an attractive dæmon-the golden monkey hadn't been feared because he was _ugly_. And she wondered, anxiously, if he intended to shoot them now that he had gotten the flies out of the way.

"You ought to have been more cautious." the man spoke to them, putting his rifle away while his dæmon buried her golden fly in the snow and then tore at the pathetic little pile with her claws.

"What do you mean?" Lucy blurted out as her brother stepped in front of her and Jill protectively.

"Don't you know what was about to happen to you?" the man demanded gruffly, clearly thinking them to be half-wits. "You were invaded by spy-flies."

"What's a spy-fly?" Peter asked.

The man rolled his eyes. "Foolish boy, they're not living things, they're like a tightly wound clockwork that seeks out prey at the bidding of their crafters and owners."

Reepicheep, shifting into a long, slinky, honey-coloured weasel, edged closer to the snow leopard and sniffed at her curiously, as if trying to find out more about her. She growled faintly, but did not attempt to swat him away.

"You're very lucky I was here, boy." the man told him, his voice still harsh-even a bit angry. "The one that landed on you had a sleeping poison in its sting-would have knocked you out cold if I hadn't intervened."

Peter felt the blood drain from his face, and he thought he was going to be sick. He suddenly realized who exactly must have sent the fly out after him; none other than Mrs. Coulter herself. And she would have put him to sleep and followed the flies to where he was. Jill might have been dead by then and goodness knows how cold and frightened Lucy would have been, but Mrs. Coulter probably wouldn't have cared about that-she wanted _him_ , not them.

"Thank you, sir." Peter finally said gratefully, looking up at the man with a wide-eyed expression of overwhelming relief.

"I am Lord Asriel." he introduced himself, glancing down at his dæmon, rather surprised-though perhaps not as surprised as he ought to have been-to see that of the three people he'd just saved from the spy-flies, only one of them had a dæmon for his own to greet.

Jill opened her eyes almost all the way now and noticed the snow leopard. She didn't seem to care much about her, however, because all she did was blink at the dæmon and ask if it had seen her Isi. "He'll know where to find me, wont he?"

"I'd ask you where you came from, but I already know." Lord Asriel said somewhat condescendingly, rolling his eyes at Peter. "I believe the Coulter woman was intent on giving you even more trouble than she gives me."

"You know her?" Lucy asked, scooping up Reepicheep and holding him close. Seeing Jill without Isi was starting to make her feel rather lonely so that she thought she simply had to cling to her Reep just to be sure he was still a part of her. What was more, this Lord Asriel person, although he seemed to be a friend, wasn't exactly the most comforting presence even now; he was haughty, proud, and didn't seem to like them very much in spite of his willingness to help them out.

He laughed bitterly. "Yeah, I know her all right."

Peter's brows sank into his lower forehead. "You know what she does to children, then?"

He arched one of his own brows and the snow leopard yawned coolly. "Yes."

"It doesn't upset you?" Peter couldn't help asking.

Lord Asriel shrugged his shoulders. "As long as she doesn't get in _my_ way, not really-no."

Jill let out a moan; both Peter and Lucy were horrified at the nobleman's (for being a lord made him a noble) easiness over what Mrs. Coulter was doing, and at the same time, still rather curious about him.

"The question is," Lord Asriel sighed, noticing that the children only had one reindeer left and not much chance of getting anywhere safely. "what are we to do with the two of you?"

"There are three of us, Lord Asriel." Lucy pointed out sort of quietly.

"I don't expect the littlest one to survive so much as a journey to the nearest out-post." Lord Asriel answered bleakly. "So, in the end, it'll be about where to place the _two_ of you, do you understand?"

Upset and shaken, Lucy grabbed onto Jill's cold, frail hand and held it as if that would somehow keep her alive a while longer.

"Boy, what is your name?" demanded Lord Asriel, staring very hard at Peter.

"Peter Pevensie, sir." something about the man-whether you loved him or hated him-made you want to call him 'sir', and Peter was a respectful boy by nature anyway.

"Pevensie, are you any good at scholarly work?" Lord Asriel stroked his beard in a thoughtful manner. "I mean, could you attend lessons and classes and take exams and things without having to be chased after?"

"Yes, of course." said Peter, rather insulted that anyone would think otherwise of him.

"And the little girl, the one with the rat dæmon-" (Reepicheep had shifted back into a mouse by this point).

"Mouse, Lord Asriel." Reepicheep corrected him. "I am not a rat."

Lord Asriel ignored the girl's dæmon and went on, "-can she run and play with other children without causing trouble and then come and attend a view lessons of her own when the professors and scholars have time for her?"

"Lucy doesn't cause trouble." Peter's sense of loyalty towards his sister burned so brightly at the moment that it was a wonder he didn't grab onto Lord Asriel's arm and attempt to twist it out of anger for implying that dear little Lucy would be anything but angelic.

"Wait a second..." Lord Asriel's expression suddenly changed and his dæmon's mouth opened a sliver, her eyes staring unwaveringly at Reepicheep. "...rat dæmon-mouse, whatever-could you grab onto your human's foot and shift into your smallest form, just so I can be sure?"

Reepicheep obeyed and grabbed onto Lucy's foot. Anyone else in Lord Asriel's position would have gotten sentimental and embraced her tearfully, but that had never been his way. All he did was calmly say, "Long time no see."

Peter gulped and looked over at Lucy who seemed very confused, realizing that she still didn't know the truth about where she'd come from. Lord Asriel seemed to know her from then; he was not one of the men who had brought her to the Pevensie house-hold eight years ago (Peter was sure, at least, of that much), yet he still remembered a baby named Lucy with a mouse dæmon holding onto her foot.


	20. Plans and nightmares

In spite of the fact that it was evident that Lord Asriel knew Lucy from somewhere and had just recognized her-though, never one to _have_ favorites, much less to play them, he didn't really act any differently towards her-he would not explain himself. He was calm as anything as he continued making plans with Peter (or rather, Lord Asriel talked and Peter nodded a lot) about where they were to go and what they were to do.

It was decided that they would be taken down to Jordan College and left there on a sort of scholarship. Lord Asriel had attended that very college himself as a young man, had helped out the college on several occasions, had made many finds and studies which he-occasionally-credited to the college, and knew the Master on a personal basis. Thus, he assured Peter and Lucy, no one there was likely to refuse his request-more like demand, actually-that they be welcomed and kept safe.

"I've done this once before." Lord Asriel told them, taking out a silver flask and sipping something from it. "Left a child there, I mean. Once, as a favor to my relatives, a niece of mine-she's about Lucy's age."

"Couldn't Mrs. Coulter come after us there if she wanted to?" Peter asked, remembering what Susan had once told him about her mother having a Zeppelin. A woman with a Zeppelin could probably just come right on down to Jordan College, charm the scholars, insist on seeing the children and...the thought was too horrible to finish, Peter shuddered violently.

"Here, Pevensie." Lord Asriel handed the silver flask over to him. "A few sips of this will warm you right up."

Peter's hands trembled as he held the little flask, uncertain if he should or should not drink from it. After nearly being poisoned-even if it was going to be through a stinger and not a goblet-he felt a bit uneasy readily accepting unidentified liquids from a man he barely knew. He was quite cold however, and after a few seconds of serious debate, lifted the flask to his lips, tossed his head back, and had himself a good swig of the stuff. It tasted rather beastly-too strong for his liking-and it made him sputter and cough a few times, but Lord Asriel had been right about one thing; it instantly made him feel much warmer.

"To answer your question, Pevensie," said Lord Asriel, speaking in a rather high-and-mighty tone as Peter handed the flask back to him. "she will not come after you there. She may be a 'friend' of the college but they wouldn't defy my wishes for hers, not in a million years."

While they discussed this, Lucy remembered what Edmund had told her about his half-sister, Lyra Belacqua. She wondered if-when they got there-she would meet her. It would be a little hard, she decided, not betraying Edmund's trust by asking Lyra about him-about the boy she knew simply as 'Ed'. It would be hard, but not so hard that she couldn't do it. Lucy would never betray a friend, and in spite of all that had happened, she still cared deeply about Edmund. She wished there was some way to save him-some way to take him with her to Jordan College away from his mother and her horrid golden monkey. Her eyes still grew misty as she thought about how Edmund had helped them. Yes, he had betrayed her by trying to steal the silver pocket watch, but she could forgive him for that in time. Deep down, in the core of her heart, without fully knowing it, she already had.

That night, because there didn't seem to be much chance of anyone locating them until at least mid-afternoon the next day since the spy-flies had never returned to Bolvangar, Lord Asriel set up camp right next to the sleigh. For supper, which of course they were all in need of, Lord Asriel lit a fire and cooked some seal-meat he had caught over it. While they waited for it to be ready, they all ate the sugar cookies and butter biscuits with a few pieces of roasted cheese. Peter and Lucy washed their snack down with hot cocoa; Lord Asriel preferred to drink some more of whatever was in his silver flask. Although he offered it to Peter again, he declined this time, a little worried that Lord Asriel didn't exactly concern himself with moderation and that it would end badly with the two of them dead-drunk and poor Lucy wondering why on earth the only males present were acting like complete idiots.

No, Peter thought, at least one of us ought to keep our wits about us, and I have had enough to keep me warm, I wont take anymore of it-not tonight.

The seal meat itself was something of an acquired taste and while she didn't hate it, it wasn't a meal Lucy particularly enjoyed or thought about fondly afterwards. It had a refreshingly salty flavor to it but was also uncomfortably gamey in texture and got caught in-between a good many teeth. Lord Asriel also happened to have some dried jerky meat on him which he offered to Peter and Lucy, having already eaten his fill. Lucy had some; Peter had had two helpings of the seal and didn't feel that he wanted anything more at the moment; and Jill took only one bite of the piece Lucy held up to her lips before turning her head away and asking if Isi was lost or if he would be back soon. Her voice was paler-sounding than before, and Lucy's mood grew darker-far more somber-after hearing it, so that nothing else seemed good to her except for calling it a night and going to sleep under the pile of warm blankets Peter and Lord Asriel had set up for her.

While she slept and Jill coughed and sighed by turn, Lord Asriel took out his maps and compared them to the one Trumpkin had given to Peter so that a proper course could be charted out.

"If we travel at such-and-such speed," Lord Asriel said very quickly, dragging his fingers along a line he'd drawn on one of the maps. "we'll be out of the Harfang district within five days good weather, six or seven bad."

"What if they send more spy-flies after us?" Peter asked, wondering how greatly that might slow them down.

Lord Asriel's responding facial expression fairly smacked of 'you idiot', but all he said aloud was, "I doubt it, there aren't that many of them. They're very hard pieces of clockwork to get a hold of-very expensive and rather rare."

Peter nodded, feeling foolish. "Where will we go once we're out of Harfang?"

"We will cross a common meadow linking Harfang land into the out-post town of Winding Arrow. Once there, we can buy some more supplies, clean up a bit, catch our breaths, and make our way north-east to Norroway." He took out a charcoal-stick and started circling something that was presumably Norroway. "Then it's only two or three weeks traveling south by boat to what is called 'the Cair Paravel peninsula' also known as, 'the lesser peninsula', though there really isn't anything inferior about it."

"And once we're at the peninsula?"

"We travel up it, going north, until we come to Jordan College." Lord Asriel told him, sucking in his cheeks while he spoke.

Once Peter finally-with a little more trouble than even he liked to admit-fully understood the plan in its entirety and had gotten all of his questions-rather pompously-answered, he laid himself down beside Lucy and fell asleep.

Lucy's rest became rather fitful only a couple of hours after she had fallen asleep. She dreamed, rather vividly, of a wall in a fine house. The lavishly painted wallpaper appeared to be lined with silver and gold cloth threads, and she could catch glimpses of rich tapestries from where she was. She could tell that she was on her back, something of a lumpy bundle much, much smaller than she had ever remembered being-with another lumpy bundle, wailing quite loudly, right next to her. Reepicheep was teeny and he clung to her foot. The other lumpy bundle had a dæmon, too, also a mouse except _his_ fur was golden-coloured-resting at the bundle's neck-whereas Reepicheep was brown; a deer-mouse.

A large, sun-browned woman's face with warm, dark eyes loomed over them, half-smiling. She was a very motherly sort of person, one could tell just from the warm, comforting look about her. Every wrinkle and curl on the lady was inviting, although they also had a no-nonsense, firmness about them, which all good mothers must possess. Perched on her shoulder, was her dæmon, a magnificent hawk with ruffled auburn feathers and a wise-looking, deeply curved beak.

The sound of a door being flung open and then slammed shut echoed, booming in Lucy's ears. They suddenly felt so delicate that she started to cry from the pain induced by the sound, while the bundle beside her cried even louder-screaming her whole head off.

"Where is _it_?" a male voice demanded. He must have had a dæmon, but whatever sort of animal it was, Lucy couldn't tell because she was quiet with cold, hard anger and made no sounds to indicate her presence, letting her human do all the talking.

"Away with you now, shoo!" the motherly woman huffed at the intruder in a tone that strongly suggested she was frightened and trying desperately to hide it. The hawk clanked his beak in a very rough, threatening manner. "What do you mean, breaking into his lordship's home like this?"

Lucy was even more frightened than the woman was; she liked the motherly lady just fine, but this man's voice was scary-she wanted him to go away.

"Darn Gyptian!" the man cursed nastily. "Bloody blasted Telmarine!"

"Watch your mouth in this house, sir." the woman scoffed at him, still pretending she wasn't afraid. "And I am only half-Telmarine, Gyptian or not."

"You're all the same, you Gyptians: dirty, vile, pigs-working for _him_ on top of it all." the man went on-Lucy could sense he was getting closer to where she and the other bundle were and that the woman was trying to stand in his way.

Reepicheep's teeth sank into Lucy's toe out of fear and she let out a weak yelp; the man seemed to be getting closer and closer in spite of the woman's best efforts.

Then the sound of the door opening again, another male voice-a strangely familiar one this time-demanding to know what the devil was going on. He must have had a cat-like dæmon because the pad-pad of her paws on the tiled floor was the only sound to be heard for the next couple of seconds. The two men now present in the room seemed to recognize each other at once, although Lucy still couldn't see their faces, only the wallpaper across from her and the cerulean star-painted ceiling directly above her.

There was the sound of clinking and an, "Oof!" Something cracked and shattered, a thin metal object fell to the floor, but Lucy couldn't see what it was. A small explosion that looked like golden dust twinkled faintly in the distance, bright enough for her to catch a fleeting glimpse of.

Then, "Ma Costa, please scrape Edmund Coulter's body off the floor, would you? Blood-stains are hideous in nurseries."

"Mr. Coulter?" the woman's voice whispered a little shakily though much firmer than anyone else in that situation would have sounded like.

"Don't bother, Ma Costa, the man is dead-he can't hear you." Lucy finally figured out who's voice that was; she knew who was speaking. It was Lord Asriel.

The bundle next to her finally stopped crying and she could feel herself growing big again, re-entering her eight-year-old body, her eyes shooting open and unexplained tears spurting out of them. She sat up in the furs and blankets, looking around the campsite, not nearly as relieved as she thought she might have been to find that it was only a dream, sobbing as if it had really happened.

Wakened by his sister's sobs, Peter sat up and put his arm around her comfortingly. "Shh, what's the matter? What happened?"

Lucy swallowed hard, feeling a little bad about bothering Peter over a nightmare-however horrid it had been. "It was awful..."

"You just had a bad dream, it's okay, Lu, everything's going to be fine."

"Oh, but Lord Asriel was there and he-he-he...he killed a man...there was this woman and she...she...oh..."

Holding her closer to him, Peter whispered again that everything was fine.

"The man's name was the same as Mrs. Coulter's son...I think it was her dead husband."

"Shh...it wasn't real." Peter tried to reassure her, tucking a stray strand of hair behind one of her ears and gently wiping a bead of sweat off of her forehead. "Try to relax."

Lucy nodded and laid herself back down, closing her eyes, trying to force herself to look peaceful; but she didn't sleep at all the rest of the night. As soon as she knew that Peter, dead-tired in spite of his deep concern, had fallen back asleep, she opened her eyes and spent the rest of the night looking up blankly at nothing at all. The words, 'the man is dead', uttered so disgustingly serenely, without a care in the world, echoed in her ears until morning dawned.

Throughout breakfast, Lucy couldn't even look at Lord Asriel. Even if had been only a dream, it had shaken her to the core, and his eyes were so wild that she couldn't help but think that he probably had killed someone at least once before-whether or not it was Edmund Coulter, she couldn't say. She might have felt a little guilty being unpleasant with someone over a dream if he had even taken note of her cold manner and so much as bothered to mention it, which he didn't. Lord Asriel hadn't really paid her any mind at all since he'd said, "Long time no see." After that, he didn't appear to have much use for her; thus, he went on taking no note of anything she did. The child could have been making faces at him and spitting in his general direction and he would have barely acknowledged her.

Reepicheep, who had suffered through the dream right along with his mistress, waking up in a cold sweat and then finding himself quite tongue-tied, thought it rather mean of the snow leopard to never so much as glance his way. Didn't she care? Why was she so apathetic?

Sooner than Lucy would have thought possible, breakfast was over and the sleigh was loaded up with everything that had been their camp-site the night before. Peter asked Lord Asriel if he thought it would be too hard for the one reindeer they had left to pull the sleigh with all of them on it, only getting an eyebrow raise for his supposed stupidity. At least, he had the comfort of knowing he wouldn't have to drive the rest of the way; Lord Asriel was going to take care of that because he knew more about traveling through snowy tundras than Peter did.

Jill coughed an awful lot that morning and Lucy clung to her tightly, hoping the body heat would help somewhat. By noontime, Jill had stopped talking altogether, not even asking about Isi anymore. She had an hour of mute restlessness during which she was quite impossible and Lord Asriel nearly lost his temper and threatened to abandon her in the middle of no where if she didn't stop trying to lift her weak little body over the sleigh's railing every five minutes. Peter glared at him, and Lucy, indignant, shook her head angrily.

"Oh, Reep," whispered Lucy in a voice so low that only her dæmon could hear her. "I hope Lord Asriel was wrong about her not making it to the out post. I've something of an idea that if she can make it that far..." Her voice trailed off, but Reepicheep knew exactly what she meant.


	21. A funeral at Winding Arrow

Because the weather was fine-or rather, free from sleet or snow (there were as many gray skies and dark, looming clouds as ever)-Lord Asriel, Lucy, and Peter managed to make it out of the Harfang district within five days just as predicted.

Jill was alive when they reached the meadow linking Harfang to the town of Winding Arrow, but her breath was shallow. She did not eat nor drink, and she wouldn't so much as blink at Peter or Lucy no matter how they tried to coax her. She did nothing but pluck nervously at the horse-shoe pillow she, even then, cradled in her arms. Her eyes wide and her face as pale as a sheet of paper, the little child, young though she was, must have known what was going to happen. She must have known; known that Isi was lost to her for ever, known that she was too weak to live another day, known that Lucy would never forgive Mrs. Coulter after she passed away, known that she was going to go to sleep very shortly and would not wake up again.

Just as the sleigh reached the point in the meadow where the snow on the ground was not thick enough for it to keep going, Jill took her last breath. Closing her eyes, she looked-for the first time since she'd lost Isi-almost happy. She seemed rather like an old woman who had been suffering and waiting for the hand of death. Death was still an enemy, but it was a welcome enemy to her-to this poor child pushed to the end of her endurance. Peter thought for a moment, watching Jill's lips tremble just slightly before they relaxed into a good-bye smile, that she was going to say something, but she didn't even so much as murmur her dæmon's name one last time. Lucy began to cry and pleaded with Reepicheep to shift into a raccoon again-unable to think of anything else that might help. Reepicheep, however, reminded her that Jill was no longer responsive to his attempts at impersonating her lost dæmon.

Jill made the prettiest corpse imaginable in spite of her far-too-pale cheeks. Her closed eyes were surrounded by long, very beautiful lashes and her smile was sweet; she looked more like a small child sleeping than anything else. From the cold sky above, a few light snowflakes fell and landed on her. Lucy and Peter hastily brushed away the ones that landed on her face, but those that landed in her hair, giving her the appearance of a little snow-angel, remained where they fell.

While they mourned over the death of the half-girl, Reepicheep shifting into a little sparrow and chirping forlornly, Lord Asriel stood with his back to them, smoking tobacco-waiting them out.

"I could kill her." Lucy hiccupped, resting her cheek against Reepicheep's soft brown feathers.

"Who?" asked Reepicheep.

"Mrs. Coulter;" Lucy said bitterly. "her and that monster of a dæmon she's got." Still sobbing, she added, "Why is she doing this?"

"Something about Dust." Reepicheep reminded her.

"I hate Dust, then." Lucy decided, forgetting for a moment about the Lion in the book- _he_ hadn't seemed to hate Dust. "If it makes people do horrible things like this, I hate it."

"Dust didn't make them do it," said Reepicheep. "They did it because they wanted to get rid of Dust-or something like that, don't you remember?"

"I don't care." said Lucy. "I don't know and I don't care."

"We'll find some place to bury the dead child in Winding Arrow." Lord Asriel announced, interrupting her thoughts.

"The sleigh wont pull us there." Peter pointed out, his voice feeling dry and forced.

"It's not that far," said Lord Asriel. "we'll walk the rest of the way." His dæmon yawned and stretched out her large cat-paws.

So they left their belongings for the time being (all except for the silver pocket watch which Lucy wrapped in a piece of soft brown fur she'd found in her blankets the night before and tied into a sash strapped around her waist; and Lord Asriel also carried his rifle), planning to have them retrieved after they'd gotten Jill buried and had a real meal in town (mostly upon Lord Asriel's suggestion because both Peter and Lucy felt sick to their stomachs and couldn't think of eating at the moment).

The walk was no more than an hour and a half long, but it was still enough time for Peter and Lord Asriel to take turns carrying Jill's body. Whenever it was Lord Asriel's turn, he always carried her unflinchingly, but never with any trace of tenderness. Whereas, Peter, was often in danger of his arms and knees buckling out of pure broken emotion.

When they had reached the outskirts of Winding Arrow, Peter thought he heard a little cry coming from the bushes to his right. Lord Asriel was currently carrying the dead half-girl, so Peter squatted down and moved a few leaves and thistles aside. A little blackish head peeked out, crying harder. It was a cat; small, black-and-white, and limping. A thorn was caught in her-for it was a female cat-left front paw, so deep in that she couldn't get it out.

She seemed skittish, unwilling to go near Lord Asriel or Lucy, but she apparently took a liking to Peter, letting him approach and carefully remove the thorn. Her little pink tongue licked the side of his index finger, feeling rough, like sand-paper.

Lord Asriel's dæmon rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed, but Lord Asriel himself seemed to be getting an idea. "She seems to like you."

"And?" Peter crinkled his forehead, lifting up the cat who was now managing to purr and yowl at the same time, not understanding what he was getting at.

"We could pretend she was your dæmon." he said pointedly, shifting the dead child in his arms as if she were nothing more than a sack of potatoes. "Would bring us less attention."

"Any dæmon with half a brain could tell it's just an ordinary cat!" Reepicheep protested indignantly, somewhat insulted.

"If they paid close enough attention, yes," Lord Asriel admitted dryly. " _You_ pay attention to strangers, but I doubt anyone here is likely to-seeing as we'll just be going in and out." His dæmon shook her fur in a very self-important fashion. "It's a great deal like someone having a false leg, people notice it only if they get close enough to examine it and take the time to reason it out. Peter can carry the cat so that the other peoples' dæmons wont be as likely to approach it for fear of touching him because he's not their human."

Peter had to admit Lord Asriel, for all his failings, was pretty clever. Having a cat would be a good decoy, and if Mrs. Coulter-god forbid-had spies out looking for him, for a boy with no dæmon, it would be harder for them to pick him out.

The town itself was quite unimpressive. Better than the snowy wilderness, certainly, but interesting to look at, not so much. The wooden signs announcing this or that tavern or station platform, were undecorated and lack-luster; plain, inexpensive wood and simple, ebony-coloured block letters for the words. The people were plain-looking, too, their dæmons mostly dull-coloured birds or grayish hound-dogs with long faces. Reepicheep, currently a reddish fox trotting at Lucy's side, stood out like the only bright red crayon in a box of gray and yellow-green ones. Peter's cat, though far prettier than any of the real dæmons in the town in spite of her slightly mangled fur, didn't stick out as much.

The common graveyard was bleaker than most because the majority of the tombstones were made of wood and had rotted away. Those that weren't looked shabby and uncared for. Jill's body was placed in a casket made of tightly woven, tan-coloured straw, lined with white cotton. Her arms were folded neatly at her chest and blue flowers that were probably a sort of weed the town was trying to get rid of anyway were placed under her right hand. Someone from the local funeral home had removed her dirty, weather-worn smock and replaced it with an old-and apparently used-but cleanly pressed garment of a vivid green, a short chain-knitted cloak of blood-red slipped over her shoulders for dramatic effect. There was no ceremony, only a tired old man with untrimmed white whiskers on his chin and a fat gray-parrot dæmon putting the matching straw-lid over the casket while Lucy wept, clinging to the side of Peter's waist as he clutched his 'dæmon' with one arm and comforted her with the other, trying to swallow the lump forming in his throat.

A meal was served to them at a local inn less than an hour later, but Lucy never remembered anything about the meal, whether it was good or bad, afterwards. Everything tasted the same at the time, and she hadn't been able to get down more than a few bites of whatever was on her plate anyway. Peter played with his food and tossed a piece of fish to the cat when no one was looking. She purred and rubbed against his arm, assuming that he must have been in a good mood if he was feeding her-they'd get along just fine, she decided.

After they'd eaten, Lord Asriel hastily ordered the innkeeper's head manservant, a dull-witted fellow named Asighamond with a very skinny Great Dane for a dæmon, to go and collect their things from the linking meadow, thrusting a few silver shillings into his pale, soot-stained hands. A carriage was arranged to take the three of them (four if you counted the cat since she wasn't actually Peter Pevensie's dæmon) and their things down to Norroway. Peter was amazed at how quickly the sallow-looking, lost people of this out post town were willing to jump and skip and dance-basically do anything-at a Lordship's bidding. It was kind of sad, even if it was part of their own salvation, a piece of their own escape.

"What about the reindeer?" Lucy wanted to know as they were getting ready to leave, Reepicheep shifting into his gold-band and red feather mouse form. "What are you going to do with him?"

"I figured we'd leave it here for the town folk." Lord Asriel said in an uninterested, nonchalant tone of voice. "They can slaughter him and make stew."

Lucy was appalled; the reindeer had suffered enough as far as she was concerned; being startled by the spy-flies and having to pull them all this way. She didn't want the poor thing to get killed-she burst into tears, unable to bear this on top of everything else.

" _Children_!" Lord Asriel huffed impatiently, his dæmon letting out a low growl aimed in Reepicheep's general direction. "If you are going to get worked up, do so in the carriage so that we might be on our way."

"You can't let them kill the reindeer." Lucy insisted, unable to stop blubbing. "It's _our_ reindeer-he stayed when the other one left us!"

"What do stupid reindeer know of loyalty?" huffed Lord Asriel, rolling his eyes as Peter put a comforting arm around Lucy's shoulders, fighting the urge to kick the lord right in the shins for making her cry. "Dumb brutes that aren't of any use to us."

Lucy wept harder, unsure exactly why this affected her as greatly as it did, only knowing that she couldn't bear it.

Peter hated seeing his sister like this. "Please, Lord Asriel, couldn't you tell the town people not to kill it? Just for her sake?"

"For the sake of peace and a journey without an insolent, bratty child making trouble for me, I shall-if I must." Lord Asriel gave in, walking away to bark some more orders at the help, his gorgeous dæmon following at his left side.

"It'll be alright, Lu." Peter whispered to his little sister, rubbing the side of her arm. "It will, somehow I'll see to it."

"Peter, do you think Isi's dead, too?" Lucy whispered, looking off into the distance. "Dæmons are supposed to die with their humans...but if they aren't connected, I wonder if they do."

"Maybe her dæmon died before she did, Lu." Peter suggested sadly. "Maybe that's why she stopped talking."

"Why do you think she smiled?" Lucy wondered aloud. "Do you think she was actually happy to die?"

"I don't know," Peter answered, blinking back a few stray tears. "I like to think she just wanted to rest-to settle without worrying about her dæmon, and now she is."

Meanwhile, Lord Asriel's snow leopard, raised a fair, white brow at her human and quietly asked, "Are you really going to _tell_ them not to kill the reindeer?"

"It'll keep the child quiet, Stelmaria," he replied, a slightly distant, almost humane look flashing briefly in his eyes. "besides, though she doesn't know it-nor likely ever will-I would do more than this little thing for her."


	22. The White Bear of Norroway

When they arrived in Norroway, the first thing Peter and Lucy noticed was the harbor-it was massive. Filled with fleet-ships and cargo-boats, and even a couple of ships with black sails that looked like they might have carried pirates, it was fairly bursting with life and excitement. Gyptian ships were common as well; though whether or not they were of Telmarine ethnicity really couldn't be determined. There were many Gyptian clans and races, all of which varied and intertwined. Dozens might have been Telmarines-at least in part-but dozens _more_ very well might not have been.

In all honesty, Peter wasn't sure how he felt-or should have felt-about Telmarines at the moment (of Gyptians in general, he knew even less). Part of him wanted to hate them; the memory of them trying to kidnap Susan Coulter when they'd first met was still quite sharp in his mind. On the other hand, he realized now that things weren't as they seemed, that it wasn't really quite that simple. Could it have been possible that those Telmarine Gyptians were only acting in self-defense? Had Susan's mother taken away children of _theirs_ for her horrible experiments? Was Susan merely a pawn in this horrible scheme or was she an instigator? Did she help her mother because she had to, or because she _wanted_ to?

His thoughts of Susan were a muddled, passionate, furious, broken, and ultimately confused, mess. He loved her...and he was angry with her...and he missed her...and he loved her...and he hated her...no, he loved her-he only felt like he _ought_ to hate her...but he didn't, he couldn't...but he missed her...and he loved her...and he still thought about her every day...and he missed her...

"Pevensie, pick up that darned cat before she has a fit!" Lord Asriel's sharp voice snapped him out of his thoughts as they wandered down the cobble-stone and plank-wood lanes.

The cat, who he had christened, Doe, was meowing at his feet for him to pick her up; she liked taking walks, but only if he carried her. She would walk at his side, almost like a real dæmon save for the fact that they were not connected and she could not accurately sense his emotions any better than your average pet could, being completely devoted to him, but she preferred not to if she had the choice. And he seemed to like to carry her, too. He always seemed to have her in his arms when other people were about. Showing me off, thought the cat smugly, never having realized she was a decoy dæmon.

"Come on, Doe," sighed Peter gently bending down to pick her up as she purred and rested her front paws on his right shoulder.

Lucy smiled at them; Peter had never had a pet before and it occurred to her for the first time that perhaps he had always considered himself too busy looking after her and Reepicheep to bother with a cat or a dog or even a goldfish. She hated to think of her brother as deprived and found herself glad, even under these distressing circumstances, that he finally had something that was his and his alone. Reepicheep was currently in the form of a snow-white mink, resting-probably asleep as likely as not-sprawled out across Lucy's shoulders. She leaned back and rested her head lovingly on Reepicheep's. Darling, Reep! How good it was to know that they still had each other no matter what. To know that no matter where they went, they were never alone. That was the best part of having a dæmon; being able to keep yourself company so that, even in the worst of times, you never felt completely lost. Unless, of course, you were like Jill and Isi and all the other children who'd lost their dæmons; Lucy remembered to say a silent prayer for them every night. Deep down, she knew she and Reepicheep would have to set things right in Bolvangar someday, it just wouldn't be today.

"I must speak with some associates of mine alone," Lord Asriel announced, barely even glancing at either of the children, his dæmon nodding curtly at Reepicheep. "and I must arrange our passage to the lesser peninsula. You both will have to wait at the station square, close enough to the docks that I can find you-I may be tempted to leave without you if you're stupid enough to wander off, be forewarned in that-but not so close that you can bother people, getting underfoot."

"Humph!" Lucy pressed her lips together and turned away from him. Reepicheep opened his eyes; his little mink-lips frowned at Stelmaria bitterly, just as put-out with her as his human was with Lord Asriel.

Doe yawned and rubbed against Peter's neck, pleased that he was-she wrongly supposed-content. Perhaps he would give her a cod-head later, she adored head of codfish above most others fish heads except for maybe Rainbow Trout.

They waited over two hours for Lord Asriel to return, wondering if he really hadn't just gotten sick of them and departed on his own. Peter thought it was the very sort of thing the temperamental lordship would have done, but for some reason she couldn't explain, Lucy wasn't so sure. The oddest little voice in the back of her head whispered faintly that he wouldn't abandon them here in Norroway. That he wouldn't truly leave them at all until they had reached Jordan College.

Peter squirmed uncomfortably on the splinter-inducing wooden bench they were seated on. "Even if he _is_ coming back for us, I have to go."

"Go?" Lucy's forehead crinkled and Reepicheep looked up at him curiously. "Go where?" Did the brother she trusted above all other persons she knew really intend to go away from her now?

"I'm not _leaving_ ," Peter went a little red in the face, trying not to laugh at his poor little sister's wide-eyed worry. "I just have to go."

"Huh?"

"You know, _go_...bad..." he blurted out hastily.

"Oh!" Lucy fought back a giggle of her own now. "Go on then, we'll wait here."

Peter was uneasy about leaving her in the middle of the Norroway harbor by herself, but he couldn't hold it any longer. It really wouldn't have been at all seemly for a fourteen year old to wet himself in public. He wished he could leave Doe with Lucy (it was awkward trying to pee with the cat staring at him with her large, unblinking yellow eyes, flicking her tail from side to side), but he knew it would look too peculiar for his 'dæmon' to stay behind without him.

When Peter had disappeared from her view, Lucy took out the silver pocket watch. She'd been so busy with everything that had been happening lately that she had barely had any real time to examine it and try to figure out what it was really for and what made it work.

Still a mink, Reepicheep stared down at the glittering object his mistress held in her palms. "Supposing it really is to do with Dust..."

"I don't think Lord Digory would have given me something that worked with evil." Lucy said decidedly, assuming it must be something else. The Lord Professor wouldn't have given her an alethiometer, would he have?

"But what if it wasn't really evil after all, Lucy?" Reepicheep pondered aloud.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, it's just that it was Mrs. Coulter who told Edmund Dust wasn't good, right? And it's Mrs. Coulter who's trying to figure out how to get rid of it-or something of the sort-by cutting away kid's dæmons, right?"

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Think about it, Lucy-think about that Lion with the Dust in the book. Supposing Dust wasn't really bad at all...what if it was something _good_...golden just like that Lion?"

"But Edmund said..." Lucy's voice trailed off and she shook her head.

"He might not know. He'd just believe whatever his mother told him about it, wouldn't he?" Reepicheep said pointedly.

"But it's so confusing;" Lucy mulled, sighing to herself, stroking the side of the silver pocket watch. "why doesn't Dust settle on children, then, if it's so good?"

Reepicheep hopped down from her shoulders and plopped on the bench beside her, shifting into a red panda. "That I don't know, but if it is good, if Mrs. Coulter was wrong-if Edmund was wrong-we could look for it, couldn't we? We could look for Dust."

"Where?"

"Maybe that's what the silver pocket watch is for...I don't know...but don't you remember what you said to me once about it maybe being a sort of compass?"

"But then, an alethiometer must be a kind of compass, too-a golden compass-only it would point out truth itself instead of true north." Lucy came up with, scrunching her eyes tightly, trying to do some deep thinking.

"Our watch is _silver_ , so what does that mean?" asked Reepicheep.

"Don't know." sighed Lucy, looking down at the watch's open face.

"Do you think one of the scholars at Jordan might be able to figure out what the watch is really for?"

"If they're anything like Lord Asriel...I'm not sure I would _want_ them to." Lucy said shortly, rolling her eyes.

When her eyes settled again, she saw, much to her amazement, that the long hand on the watch was moving. It was pointing to something; going round and round, and always stopping at the same letter-like symbol.

"I think it's trying to tell us something!" Reepicheep exclaimed, shifting into a sleek brown mouse about the size of a terrier.

"The letter-thing it's pointing to..." Lucy squinted down at the hand's tip. "...it's like an A with a circle over it."

"I saw something like that before when we were coming in!" Reepicheep realized, getting very excited.

"Where?" Gasped Lucy, leaping up from the bench at once, forgetting that she had to wait for Peter to come back.

"There was this broken sign at the back of this little tavern...it had pale letters, but they didn't look like English, and part of it had rotted away anyhow." Reepicheep told her as she scooped him up with one arm.

There was more than one tavern in Norroway; she hoped the one Reepicheep was talking about wasn't too far in-land, not wanting to stray quite that far from the harbor. "Which tavern?"

"The one at the left ship-dock port...it had a thick wire fence in the back-the sign was sticking out of it." Reepicheep told her.

"I suppose we should go take a look, Reep, just to see if it's anything to do with the watch or not." Lucy reasoned that if the watch was old, which it very well might-even _must_ -have been, and the sign was old enough that it had rotted away, the chances of them being connected weren't slim. This might be something very important, she thought, it might even lead us to the source of Dust. Although, why the source of Dust would be in Norroway of all places was beyond her.

While the tavern itself wasn't so bad looking, it was nice enough that Gyptians and land-people alike freely went in and took their drinks together, the back of it, this little junk-yard sort of heap, was gloomy and shabby. It was worse than Reepicheep's fleeting glimpse had impressed in his memory and he felt a little ashamed for suggesting they come here. Obviously, they weren't going to find anything to do with Dust, alethiometers, or the pocket watch here. The sign was there, but it looked like any old rejected, out of date sign except for the fact that the only unfaded letter matched the one in the silver pocket watch.

Lucy didn't have to climb over the little fence that surrounded it, low though it was, she only had to press lightly against the wire in one spot that had probably been a gate once before it rusted, and it opened wide enough for a small girl of only eight carrying her dæmon in her arms to pass through.

"I think I must have been wrong, Lucy." Reepicheep told his human, craning his head and twisting his body slightly so that he could look at her. "This isn't anything more than a wash-out."

"Let's wait a moment, Reep." Lucy answered softly, clinging to him in a tight, but gentle, manner. "Something isn't right."

A roar boomed from inside a low shed-like hut the size of a large garage, making Lucy jump and even the ever-fearless Reepicheep wince slightly from surprise.

"Something's in there." he said, fighting against Lucy's grip until she put him down.

Once he was the ground, Reepicheep shifted into a handsome orange-and-black tiger about the size of a male boar-hound, standing protectively in front of her.

"Do you think it could be the Lion?" said Lucy, clasping her now sweating hands together with anticipation. If it was the Lion, she wanted to meet him, she wasn't afraid. Dust was whatever Dust was, but the Lion was good; he had to be. If he wasn't, it seemed, nothing would be worth living for. It would be a great deal like being thirsty and taking a swig of water and discovering that it was _dry_ water. Dust or no Dust, the Lion was good. Not safe-probably-but good.

Flicking his tail, Reepicheep expressed a similar sentiment to what his mistress was thinking, and so they wandered closer to the sound of the roaring-it was replaced by a low growl at that point, but they paid it no mind.

A long head stuck out from the opening of the hut-shed. It seemed a little lean for a Lion's head, but then the shadows might have been playing tricks on them, they thought. After all, it was the shadows that kept them from seeing what colour the figure was. Ebony black eyes shone, flashing fiercely at them as the head came out further. A black nose, and fur as white as snow-whiter, actually. It wasn't the Lion at all; it was a polar bear, an ice bear. He looked highly displeased and his eyes, though shinny, seemed slightly glazed-weary, even. Much to Lucy's ever deepening disappointment, he didn't even wear armour. She had been fascinated by what Edmund had told her of the amoured bears, but this one didn't seem terribly impressive apart from his sheer size. His beautiful white fur was unkempt and mangled in places; his paws-powerful glorious paws-were caked with mud and rust. He smelled really bad, too. A sharp, pungent smell Lucy couldn't name wafted off of his fur.

"What do you want?" the bear bellowed, the horrid smell coming from his mouth even stronger than that of his fur.

"Please, Sir Bear, I didn't know you were here." Lucy tried to speak without breathing in too much of that odor, thinking it might make her faint or at least vomit if she did.

"Where else would I be, human cub?" growled the bear in gruff tone that was neither angry nor pleased.

"I'm afraid I don't know." Lucy told him, taking a step forward in spite of herself, sensing that there was something amiss with the great white bear-maybe she could help him.

"You aren't from around here." said the bear.

"No," Lucy answered truthfully. "I came here with my brother...we're to go on a ship here, I think."

The bear's nose twitched in her direction and he padded closer, sniffing harder. "What is that I smell on you, human cub?"

"I don't know what you mean." said Lucy, her eyes drifting from the bear to Reepicheep and then back to the bear again.

"You've got sky iron on you, I can smell it clear as day!" the bear declared.

"Sky iron?" Lucy's voice was nearly a whisper though not quite. "What's that?"

"It's a rare metal, it comes from falling stars-I smell it on you." the bear explained. "How much have you got?"

Reepicheep placed a protective paw between the bear and his human. "We didn't know we had _any_."

"You smell like the north-is that where you acquired it?" the bear's voice was more demanding now.

"I don't know what you mean," Lucy said, taking a step back now, suddenly a little afraid of him.

The bear charged at her. He did not mean to knock her down, he only wanted to search for the source of the sky iron, but his wind was too strong for a little girl to endure and she fell on her back. Reepicheep hissed at the bear as his nose got closer to his human's middle (oddly enough, almost exactly where she kept the pocket watch secured).

"Lucy!" Peter came running, panting out of breath with Doe galloping at his heels, trying to keep up. He had come looking for her and was horrified to see her on her back with a large bear hovering above her.

"Peter-" Lucy wanted to cry out that she didn't think the bear was wicked. She was afraid of him, sure, but she didn't think he really intended to harm her. The words didn't come out in time; the bear turned and looked straight at Peter.

"Get away from her!" Peter ordered somewhat dumbly as though he was shooing away a dog, picking up Doe because she was whimpering and trembling from fear of the bear's size.

The bear muttered something along the lines of, "No dæmon," and then turned away to go back into the shed-hut.

"Why did he just turn and leave like that?" Lucy wondered aloud.

Her answer came seconds later when a group of men carrying large rifles nearly as long as they were tall rushed over and demanded to know if the white bear had been bothering them.

"No!" Lucy said quickly. "He wasn't, really."

Peter looked like he was going to say something different, but changed his mind at the last second. He didn't trust these men, and besides, he was a little unnerved by how quickly the bear's keen eyes had seen through his decoy. Supposing they questioned the bear? Would he tell them what he had discerned from the first?

"You'd best behave, Iorek," one of the men shouted in the direction of the hut-shed. "or free labor and no more whiskey for a month, do you hear?"

A faint, wordless growl simmered back from the hut-shed.

"Good." the man seemed pleased with himself.

Lucy hated him for his smugness. He shouldn't have been bullying a great creature like that, no matter how odd it was or how messy its fur had gotten; a beast like that deserved respect.


	23. While on deck

Lucy wanted to find out more about this white bear-the one the men holding guns had addressed as Iorek-but Lord Asriel was already furious with them for wandering off (and hadn't exactly expressed his disappointment in a kindly way; his way having involved many a word she couldn't hear because Peter's hands were suddenly clamped over her ears) so she didn't dare linger. She merely shuffled off along side Peter, whispering to Reepicheep whenever Lord Asriel wasn't paying attention to them.

"A clan of Gyptians I am well aquatinted with have agreed to take us with them." Lord Asriel explained shortly as they arrived back at the docks. "As it happens, they are going to lands near Jordan-it's some sort of annual trip-we've come at just the right time. They'd have been going towards the lesser peninsula anyhow."

Peter wondered what it would be like traveling with Gyptians; somehow he hadn't exactly expected this. Would some of them be Telmarines? Would they see through his fake dæmon at once? Would they hate him for it if they did? Or would they see him as another outsider, someone who was different from the rest of the world just as they were? Would he be welcomed for his own merits or simply as a favor to Lord Asriel?

As Reepicheep, currently a valiant-looking mouse clutching his little sword hilt, hopped onto the deck of the Gyptian ship in front of her, Lucy held her breath. In spite of the fact that she was loving the smell of the sea, and the beauty of the more distant parts of the harbor, her first ever foot-step onto a water-craft was making her nervous. She stepped lightly as if secretly afraid the boat would give way under her feet, but, then, her face changed entirely and seemed to light up. It was as if she had thought she was greeting a stranger she ought to be wary of, only to find it was an old friend after all. The rocking motion of the ship all at once became soothing to her; she wasn't frightened anymore.

Doe let out a rather pitiful mew and looked distressed. So much so that Peter nearly thought she was going to stalk off and stay behind in Norroway after all, but dumb witless animal though she was, a strange sort of loyalty seemed to be burning inside her, and she stayed with him.

"Greetings, Lord Asriel." a nearly-elderly man with a neat, short-clipped, white beard said welcomingly. He was dressed in fine-looking robes of silk and copper-cloth, that looked broken in and very well-worn.

"Greetings, my good man." Lord Asriel's tone was almost kind and his dæmon reached out and lightly touched the Gyptian man's dæmon, a large yellow-orange tabby (it looked to Lucy a great deal like a caracal, but she never said so), with her paw.

"And these are your traveling companions, then?" the man asked, raising a grayish-white eyebrow at Peter.

"Yes, Farder Coram," he answered, glancing passed the man, over to the opposite side of the ship for a moment before letting his gaze slowly drift back to the person he was speaking to. "I picked them up in Harfang. As I explained, the boy is to be a student at Jordan."

"Bless me!" Gasped Farder Coram, blinking at Lucy and Reepicheep, clearly taken aback. "Goodness, how long has it been since the two of us last met?"

"We've only just met." Lucy's voice became a murmur, startled both by his reaction, and by the fact that while he was certainly a stranger she had never met before today, she felt like she did know him, but was unable to explain where from.

"I don't suppose you would remember, you were just a little baby at the time-a relative of mine was hired on to nurse you, but of course that was all a long, long time ago." Farder Coram said, giving her a hardy, welcoming handshake with a grip so loving that she couldn't have been more moved if it had been a full embrace.

Tears in her eyes, feeling as though she was meeting a long lost uncle or grandfather, Lucy fought back the sudden impulse to throw her arms around the Gyptian man and cry about everything that had happened. To weep over Bolvangar and Eustace and Jill, to sob about how alarming Lord Asriel could be at times, and to be comforted. Reepicheep reached out to the caracal-tabby, who gave him a loving pat on the head with one of her front paws. A gesture like this from just about any other dæmon would have been considered patronizing and Reepicheep would have taken it none too well, but from the dæmon of Farder Coram, it was very different; it left both Reepicheep and his human feeling warm and safe.

That is, they felt warm and safe until Reepicheep suddenly let out a sharp mouse-cry and declared that something had pulled his tail. Looking behind him, he caught sight of a white rat with black spots scampering away, giggling to herself. She was a dæmon, just as Reepicheep was, and her human, a little Gyptain boy, was hiding behind one of the masts, laughing twice as hard as she was.

"Hey!" Lucy exclaimed, scooping up Reepicheep and wandering over to the boy. "I see you there."

"What do you mean, pulling my tail?" Reepicheep demanded, not quite as roughly as one might have expected him to.

The boy came out from behind the mast, grinning playfully. He had olive-tan skin, dark hair, and dark eyes that seemed black in some lights, but almost blue in others.

"Ratter did it, not me." the boy laughed cheekily, his eyes flickering from his dæmon to Lucy's.

"Billy!" A Gyptian woman with dark, curly hair and a warm, round motherly face appeared above deck, having been in cabins below up until a few moments before.

Lucy's eyes widened when she got a good look at the woman; it was the lady from her dream.

"Ah," Farder Coram laughed good-naturedly. "Ma Costa, there you are."

 _Ma Costa, please scrape Edmund Coulter's body off the floor, would you?_ Lucy shuddered, stepping back both from the boy-Billy-and from Ma Costa, who she assumed was his mother. Reepicheep became a tiger again and growled, not sure just what he was protecting Lucy from. It wasn't exactly from Ma Costa-she seemed like a very kind lady, and if it hadn't been for that dream, both Lucy and Reepicheep would have liked her at once. It must have been simply from the idea that the dream was real; that it wasn't just a nightmare. But how could he protect her from _that_?

"Hello, dear." Ma Costa smiled at Lucy, gently reaching out and cupping the girl's face in her large, warm hands.

"How do you do, Ma Costa?" Lucy whispered softly, unable to think of anything else to say.

Smiling again, the Gyptian woman leaned forward and kissed Lucy's forehead as tenderly as if she were her own mother.

Peter watched this exchange, feeling rather uncomfortable. It would all have to come out now, Lucy wasn't stupid-with all these people remembering her as a baby, surely she'd figured out there was something amiss about her belonging to the Pevensies-something Peter and her-or, rather _his_ -parents had never told her.

Her eyes were fixed on Ma Costa at the moment, but whenever they strayed over to her brother-or at least, the boy she had always _thought_ was her brother-they were filled with bewilderment. She seemed to be silently asking him, "Did you know?"

His eyes wanted to avoid hers but simply couldn't will themselves to do so. "I was young, Lucy, I didn't know everything about it-I still don't-but I guessed some of it," they seemed to answer mournfully. _Please don't be angry with me, Lu._

She wasn't angry, just confused. Who was Ma Costa to her? She wasn't her mother, that much was clear. Lucy wasn't a Gyptian. Ma Costa's face was tan, almost dark, but Lucy's skin was white, fair. Billy belonged to Ma Costa, he looked a lot like her, Lucy did not. Farder Coram had said something before, about a relative nursing her. In spite of his age, he looked like Ma Costa, too. Oh, so that was it. Ma Costa had been something of a nursemaid to her as a baby. It made perfect sense; her breasts would have had milk in them, for Billy, who appeared to be Lucy's age exactly.

But if it was she who nursed me as an infant, Lucy couldn't help but wonder, where was my real mother? Did something happen to her? Who's my father?

In a way, it didn't matter; Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie would always be her mum and dad; but she couldn't help being curious. Who was she, really? Where had she come from? How did she leave this world and come to Peter's? Someone must have taken her, she strongly doubted that she had merely _crawled_ to the Pevensies' doorstep on her own.

A good while later, the ship had set sail and, in the distance, the sun was setting. Peter stood with his chin propped up in his right hand, the left dangling overboard, occasionally getting sprayed with the salty sea-water. Looking out at the pinkish, light-filled sky in front of him, he was filled with awe and wonder. It was strange, the turns life took. Never in his life had he expected to sail in this sort of company, or for Lucy to discover that she wasn't related to them in this manner. And yet, it had all happened, it was no dream. Somehow, it was alright. Certainly not what he expected, but alright.

 _Life is like a stream._ His heart ached the moment those words popped into his mind, yet through his pain, a little smile found its way onto his face. He didn't wish none of this had ever happened. Would he have liked to be back home with his parents and Lucy? Of course he would have, but not if it meant giving up all he was slowly coming to realize in life. All these new experiences, they were starting to mean too much to him. If he missed all the pain: the deaths, the loneliness, the fear, he would have missed all the good things, too. His first love, this whole new world, these people he doubted and trusted by turn, the sound of the waves lapping at the ship's side, and even just that beautiful sun-set now reflected in his eyes would have been lost.

In the background, he could hear Lucy and Billy-friends, now-chasing each other around the deck, their dæmons scampering about and playing together.

"Five shillings says one of them goes over-board by the time this is over." one Gyptian sailor laughed merrily, watching as Billy teetered dangerously close to the edge.

"I'll put six on Billy." the sailor closest to him chuckled.

"Seven says she's the one to push him in." his companion replied, only half-joking.

Peter grinned at them and turned back to the sky as the last rays of the sun slowly slipped below the horizon.

"We'll get you to Jordan soon enough, lad." the kind voice of Farder Coram said as he walked over to him and put his own hands on the ship's railing. His dæmon sniffed at Doe, apparently not all that shocked to see that she was only an ordinary cat.

"I'm not in as much of a hurry as you might think." Peter replied wistfully.

"You've been through a lot, haven't you?" Farder Coram noticed.

"Yeah," Peter admitted. "but I think it might be worth it, in the end."

"You're scared, aren't you?"

"Yes," he didn't feel the need to hide it at the moment.

"That's okay."

"Thanks."

"For what?"

Peter shook his head. "Just for saying that, I guess."

"You're wondering about your sister, am I right?" Farder Coram put his hand on Peter's shoulder, making sure he had his attention.

"How did you know her?" Peter asked flat out, unashamed, not afraid of offending this man-he didn't seem the easily-offended sort.

"Her father gave Lucy to Ma Costa to nurse." said Farder Coram.

"What was he like?"

"Very like he is now."

"I mean, what was his name?" Peter amended, thinking perhaps he had said the wrong thing-or at least asked the wrong question.

"Don't you know?"

"Know what?"

"The Lord Asriel is her father."

Tears struck Peter's eyes and he felt like someone had smacked him across the face. "He can't be..."

There was no deception in Farder Coram's face, he was speaking the truth. He seemed neither sorry that Lord Asriel was Lucy's father nor glad of it, it was just a fact.

"...but he is, isn't he?" Peter's eyes drifted over to Lucy.

She looked so happy at the moment, gigging and playing, getting little Billy Costa in a head-lock, her round, chubby cheeks flushed a pinkish-red. Ratter and Reepicheep seemed to be playing a game of tig and hide-and-seek combined.

Lord Asriel, looking out at the sea with his wildish eyes, stroking his dæmon's soft, snow-white head absently, might as well have been a completely different species from her.

"How did she ever come from _him_?" Peter murmured, closing his eyes half-way.

"He's not so horrible once you get to know him." Farder Coram sighed, patting him on the back reassuringly. "He's been a good friend to the Gyptians in the past-the man's made his mistakes, but none of us is perfect."

"I don't think I trust him." Peter said boldly.

"Well, he never asked you to trust him, did he?" Farder Coram pointed out with a sort of half-smile. "He just said he'd take you to Jordan, and he's a man of his word."

"I think there's some level of trust in everything, though."

Farder Coram didn't answer, there were tears in his eyes, too.


	24. Lady Sarah

When Lord Asriel had first said that it would be _only_ two or three weeks until the ship arrived at the lesser peninsula, it had seemed-to Peter, at least-that the time would pass quickly and-within reason-pleasantly. He had not anticipated becoming sea-sick; he had-without necessity, as it turned out-worried about Lucy not taking too well to life at sea, but it had never occurred to him to consider himself. Lucy was fine, plenty happy, save for when she got to thinking and wondering about her birth family (Peter hadn't the heart-or stomach, at the moment-to tell her that Lord Asriel was her father). It was Peter who, by the second day on-board, was vomiting over the ship's railings so hard that he wouldn't have been surprised if he saw a random pair of _shoes_ tumble out of his mouth, landing in the ocean with a foul-sounding, _plop_.

"The poor land-lad," one of the sailors chuckled, not unkindly. "he'll wear himself down to nothing if he looses his meal every time he takes it in."

Needless to say, Peter was not at all pleased to be the subject of a fairly-cheap joke, even if it wasn't malicious-he was just too busy trying to keep his head from spinning to express his distain.

A week passed and Peter's body grew stronger, more used to the feeling of the boat rocking under his feet. He worried a great deal at first that during all the time he'd spent hurling over board he had been horribly neglecting poor Lucy-who he felt must have needed him now more than ever. For all his anxiety, however, she seemed no less rosy-cheeked and content. Ma Costa was good to her, and young Billy was as kindly a playmate as he was a teasing one, he never pushed her too far-nor she him; they made a good pair roaming about the ship together.

At some point in time, Billy had found an old sword that had once belonged to one of the older Gyptians on board, only they hadn't a need for it any longer. He used to march about with it strapped around his waist. Of course it was far too large for his small, child-frame, but that didn't strike him as a good enough reason not to wear it. One day, Lucy announced that she wanted to try it on, too, and since Gyptians always taught their children to be generous, he consented on the grounds that she be careful and give it back the very moment she was done with it.

Ratter and Reepicheep watched, rather curiously, as Lucy tied the leather around her middle and examined the big, gleaming blade covered by its elegant copper scabbard as it hung on her narrow hips. If it had been too big for Billy, it fairly engulfed her, but she didn't mind that anymore than he did.

"I think I want a sword of my own someday," Lucy mused, twirling around half-way, watching the sword lift slightly and flip around with her movements.

"You can't have a sword, you're a lady." Billy told her matter-a-factly, shaking his head with deep sympathy. "You could ask my mum, though, and I'd bet she'd give you a dagger."

"Do you really think she would?" Lucy's eyes sparkled with excitement, thinking that life as a Gyptian must have been quite thrilling. She felt just a little bit sorry that she wasn't really Ma Costa's daughter, after all. If she was, maybe she would've been allowed to see more than just their ship-maybe she could have seen their camps and their clan-houses and all sorts of things. Then again, Peter would be better off at a place like Jordan, and she wouldn't have wanted to leave her brother-not for all the copper-covered swords and daggers in the world.

"Sure she would." said Billy, looking down at his dæmon who was seated on a low water-barrel to his left, flicking her long, rat-tail down lightly on the rough wooden top. "Wouldn't she, Ratter?"

"Probably." Ratter agreed, twitching her whiskers.

Lucy took off the sword-belt and handed it back to Billy, who, without thinking, lifted it up just a little bit so that she caught sight of an inscription. In deeply carved letters of fair, loopy script, it bore the name, ' _Ani_ '.

"What does it mean, Billy?" Lucy asked, squinting down at the name.

"It must have been the name of the dæmon who's human owned this sword before me."

Oh, thought Lucy-feeling another rush of excitement, supposing I could get my own dæmon's name on my dagger, if Ma Costa gives me one, that is. Reepicheep probably would have been too long a name to embed in the metal, but shorted to Reep, it would fit nicely, she was pretty sure. Besides, what were the chances that 'Ani' had been a full name, anyway? It might just as likely have been a nickname, too.

"Ma Costa!" Lucy called as the Gyptian woman came walking by carrying a basket of apples for the sailors.

"Yes, child, what is it?" Ma Costa turned and smiled, ignoring the dozens of sailors that flocked around her like seagulls on day-old bread, snatching fruit away form her basket as though they hadn't eaten in a month.

"Billy said you might give me a dagger if I asked you for one." she blurted it out breathlessly, half-afraid of losing her nerve.

Ma Costa nodded. "A young girl as important as yourself ought to have a dagger. Yes child, you shan't be without one."

"Oh, thank you!" Lucy grinned broadly, looking over at Reepicheep to see if he was as happy about the notion of getting something of their very own. Peter hadn't let her within touching-distance of sharp objects more than a handful of odd-times in her short eight years of life, and here she was about to have a real dagger given to her! "Can I get my dæmon's name in the blade?" she added, almost timidly.

For an answer, Ma Costa took out a long knife she carried on her person and showed Lucy the name scrawled out on it. The hawk on her shoulder fluttered his wings in an proud, yet modest, fashion, ruffling his feathers just a little bit.

Peter, unaware of what his little sister was doing, found himself looking out to sea once again, just as he had on the first day, staring blankly at the horizon.

"Here," a ruby-red apple was pushed at his elbow.

Turning to see who was giving it to him, Peter noticed Farder Coram holding the fruit out with one hand and pushing up his pale, wire-rimmed glasses with the other. Funny, Peter thought, I never noticed his glasses before now.

"I managed to grab one before the rest of the sailors pig-piled over the basket." Farder Coram laughed as Peter took the apple and wiped it on his sleeve.

"Thank you, Farder Coram."

"Peter, if I tell you something...something about Lucy's mother..." Farder Coram's eyes were distant and misty. "...would it upset you? I mean, I know you don't like knowing about Asriel, I've seen the way you look at him when you think I'm not looking-and when you're not too sick for thought-like he's betrayed you by being Lucy's father."

"I just wish it were someone else." Peter murmured, biting into the apple, not entirely surprised that Farder Coram had been keeping an eye on him. "Anyone, really. No, I don't, I wish it were my father and mother who were her parents-they deserve her more than Lord Asriel does."

"It would upset you, then." Farder Coram noted, nodding somberly. "I wont tell you about her."

"No," Peter shook his head, feeling silly-he did want to know, he _had_ to know. "I'm sorry, you can tell me...I-I want to know, really."

Farder Coram stared hard at him for a moment as if gathering his true feelings on the matter just by looking into his eyes. "You're sure?"

"Yes." said Peter, glancing over his shoulder at Lucy while she was beaming up at Ma Costa, evidently over something the Gyptian woman was telling her.

"Her name was Sarah," Farder Coram started, sounding more like he was telling a fable of a long-ago time than the true story of the woman who had carried Peter's little sister for nine months. "and she was beautiful."

Leaning on the railing, Peter focused on the motions of Farder Coram's white-whiskered chin as he spoke.

"She had dark-gold hair with eyes like a quiet, blue-as-a-cornflower lake, and her dæmon was a white horse, a stallion as pure as daylight."

Peter lifted his eyes a little and twisted his mouth suspiciously as if wondering whether or not this Gyptian man wasn't just making this up. He seemed to be genuinely lost in thought as the words rolled off his tongue, though, enough to convince anyone that he was checking his memory, not telling a camp-side tale.

"In truth, I think I loved her, but I was too old for such a grand lady of a tender age-she was a mite young for Asriel, even, and he's much younger than I am." he sighed, smiling a little. "Besides, what great lady born to land-folk would want to marry a Gyptian even if he were young and handsome?"

Peter couldn't help but think that in spite of his age, Farder Coram would have been better to her than Lord Asriel ever could have been. If Sarah had married him, he would have been good to his young bride-he would have loved her devotedly.

"Anyhow, Lord Asriel _did_ love her, I know that-whatever mistakes he made, he did love her." Farder Coram sounded so sure of himself, speaking with a confidence Peter did not feel in the least. "They made a very attractive pair, the two of them, can't say your little sister came from hags, that's for sure."

For a few moments, Farder Coram was so quiet that Peter nearly thought that was all he intended to say on the matter, but then he sighed once more and resumed his story.

"They were to be married, Lady Sarah and Lord Asriel, they'd been engaged to each other for what felt like decades-as it very well may have been, after all, but then, finally, the arrangements were made and a wedding was arranged.

"It went off, but, well, her father had died the year before and, much to my surprise," here he paused and chuckled to himself, his laughter having an ironic ring to it. "she wanted me to be the one to give her away in his place. There was some mortal fuss about a Gyptian giving away a Lord's daughter but Lord Asriel wanted nothing more than her to be pleased with her wedding and told them all to stick it where the sun didn't shine."

That sounded like something Lord Asriel would have said, Peter couldn't help but think-daring to hope that maybe if that strange, bitter, temperamental lordship had ever loved anyone, it had been Lucy's mother.

"But then, shortly after their honeymoon, he went away on business-to Svalbard." Farder Coram looked quite sad now, unwittingly hinting to Peter that this was where the story went downhill.

"What happened while he was away in Svalbard?" Peter asked.

"If there's one thing we can say about Lord Asriel, it's that he's something of a lady's man." Farder Coram said pointedly.

"Oh, god, tell me he didn't-" Peter was amazed at the level of concern in his own voice. Concern for Sarah, a woman he didn't know and had never met, but felt strangely protective of all the same.

"He met a woman there-a married woman, no less-young and beautiful and he..." Farder Coram didn't feel all that comfortable sharing the details of Lord Asriel's love affair with a fourteen year old boy, he let the lad fill in some of the blanks for himself.

"Who was this woman?" Peter wanted to know.

"Marisa Coulter." whispered Farder Coram.

"No!" Peter gasped, unable to fully believe that Lord Asriel had cheated on his wife with that...that... _creature_.

"It's the truth, Peter." Farder Coram assured him. "Anyway, he went back and forth a lot...I think Sarah suspected after a while but she gave him the benefit of the doubt, and I-" his old face nearly looked young for a second as it flushed a pinkish colour. "-I didn't have the heart to tell her...she loved him so much..."

"So you knew all along that he..."

"Yes, of course I did." Farder Coram said softly. "Gyptians know a lot of things, people don't try to keep secrets from us, they don't consider us a threat-we're barely human to some of them."

"When does Lucy come into the story?" Peter had had enough of hearing about Lord Asriel's infidelity, he wanted to know about his little sister.

"Sarah-bless her-and Marisa-who, I'm sure you know this already but just in case you don't, had two children already from her husband-wound up pregnant around the same time."

"And?"

"And what? Mrs. Coulter's baby came early and lord did that child favor Asriel as an infant, would have taken a blind man not to see who's child she really was. Sarah's baby came on time but the strain of the birth weakened her, she didn't survive. Your Lucy became a half-orphan."

"Where was Lord Asriel when Lucy was born?"

"Not with his wife," Farder Coram said, surprisingly without any trace of bitterness. "Ma Costa and I were with her, though, so she was quite well cared for. Her last request was that I first bring the child to her father, let no one but Ma Costa nurse her, and if anything were to go wrong-to assist in the baby be taken out of danger, no matter what it took."

Peter took a step back and blinked. "You were at my house eight years ago-you _and_ Lord Digory!"

Farder Coram nodded.

"What danger was Lucy in?"

"I think I've told enough stories for one day." was Farder Coram's reply as he wandered off to go below deck and be by himself for a little while.

"Wait!" Peter tried, finally feeling like he was starting to understand what had happened, but of course, Farder Coram didn't wait. Even Gyptians sometimes just need a little time alone to remember the past on their own terms, without the view of another to crowd their thoughts. Sighing heavily, Peter let go of the now sucked-dry apple core in his hand and let it drop down into the fathoms of the sea below.


	25. Lyra Belacqua

During the rest of the journey to the lesser peninsula, Farder Coram was very quiet. He kept to himself mostly, and he told no more stories to Peter. In all honesty, Peter didn't try as hard as he might have to coax it from him. It was just that the poor man looked so distant, like he just needed some extended time for himself, and Peter felt he could not take that from him. It was in vain that he wished that there had been some mistake, that Farder Coram himself was Lucy's father instead of Lord Asriel, but there wasn't even a sliver of hope in that dream; Sarah never loved Farder Coram as anything more than a dear father-figure; Peter had to let that go, too.

Ma Costa gave Lucy a dagger, just as she had promised, and of course, it bore the name, ' _Reep_ '. Its coppery sheath was smooth, soft to the touch, but firm enough to be of real protection all the same. Lucy loved it and, though it made Peter a tad nervous, spent much of her remaining time at sea holding it up and watching as the sunlight reflecting off of the perfectly mirror-like water below made it sparkle like a long, pointed jewel, glistening and winking at the seagulls that flew passed.

Doe watched Peter's nervous eyes, Lucy's delighted, slightly muddled, gaze, and the twinkling of the sun-bathed blade, with her own cat-eyes wide and her tail flicking rapidly, mistaking it for a sort of game-a game that she must have been doing well at. Why else would Peter reach down and stroke her ears so often, always remembering to save a scrap of his supper for her after all the other sailors had practically licked their plates clean and then gone to wash up, barely paying her any mind?

As for Lord Asriel, he showed no signs of caring about anyone's actions on-board. He didn't react at all to Lucy's dagger, or Peter's occasional glares, or even to Farder Coram's slightly withdrawn attitude. Peter wondered if he was thinking, perhaps, of Lady Sarah, lamenting over how he had betrayed her. Then, he might have not been thinking of her at all, his thoughts might have been with Mrs. Coulter, or else, with no one at all. It was impossible to tell, he was a closed book-a secret tome that nobody was allowed to read, written in symbols that could not be puzzled out. His snow-leopard dæmon was as unreadable as her master, blankly glancing at the dæmons of the sailors with a slightly superior, but also somewhat understanding expression written on her soft, furry, pale-coloured face.

When they reached the peninsula at long last, the Gyptians gathered up their tent-poles and their food-stores, tucking them all away into tightly-wrapped packs. Everyone-even Lord Asriel-had to carry something, and it made Peter realize, not without some disappointment, that they wouldn't be at Jordan as quickly as he would have liked. Lucy-though she, too, had a small pack she was ordered by Ma Costa to carry-was rather excited. In spite of the fact that she'd loved every minute of her time on the ship, she had been starting to feel her growing legs cramping up and simply needed to stretch them. A long walk, at the time, seemed more like a blessing than a curse. What was more, she would get one of her wishes, if only for a short period of time; she would get to see the Gyptains' camp after all. At least, she would get to see them set it up, and-perhaps-if Jordan College was far away enough-get to spend a night in one.

Reepicheep, ready for adventure and in as good a humour as his human, shifted into a black stallion and trotted merrily at her side. Lucy was rather surprised-Reepicheep had never taken such a romantic-looking form before. With his beautiful ebony mane and his velvety nose, she almost felt shy of him-of her own dæmon-and had to look closely into his familiar eyes to be sure he was still her Reep. Once she was convinced, she laughed at herself, shaking off the shyness and the silly-feeling altogether, and patted his neck lovingly.

Ratter remained a rat; clearly this was no new experience for her. And why should it have been? In all likelihood, Billy and his dæmon would have made this journey countless times, young though he was.

While she adored Billy and was proud enough to call him her friend, Lucy couldn't help wishing that Edmund could be there, too. He was a different sort of playmate, a darker soul with a wiser dæmon, but she missed him. She wondered if his arm still hurt him, if his mother by some chance had found out that he'd tried to help them, if he was _safe_. She thought of Ella with her wings the colour of moonlight; poor Ratter, in spite of her own charms, paled in comparison. Not that Lucy would ever tell Billy Costa that she secretly liked Edmund Coulter better, it would have been horribly cruel thing to say to anyone, and she couldn't even imagine doing such a thing.

Ma Costa smiled sympathetically at Peter who was trying to steady himself, dizzy as he first stepped off the ship, onto the firm-set land, while Doe yowled in a cranky, temperamental manner, having something of kitty-indigestion from the long trip over.

The walk that first day was slow-paced enough. No one except Billy Costa and Ratter spoke; Lucy would have spoken, but she was too busy drinking in the look of the shady shore and the start of the woods they were coming to. They wandered down thick green-and-brown lanes that seemed more like old cow-paths than anything else. Peter felt a bit unsettled, wondering if some spy of Mrs. Coulter's was going to magically appear behind the first tree around the next bend, club him over the head to save on spy-flies, and ship his tush back to Bolvangar before he could protest. Well, if they really meant to do something like that, he wouldn't give in without a fight-Lucy needed him and that was that. He had to be free for her sake. Otherwise, he might have almost-not quite, for he wasn't crazy, but _almost_ -been tempted to allow himself to be caught in hopes of getting a chance to see Susan again. But then, seeing as pretty much the last thing she'd said to him was that she didn't love him and couldn't see him anymore, she probably wouldn't give him the time of day if he ever turned up at Bolvangar again.

Night fell and the stars came out like a thousand points of light above them. As if it were a cue of some kind, the Gyptians stopped at the nearest clearing and set up their tents. Mostly they were purple and blue colours, dark, but not royal, slightly faded, but somehow grand in their own ways. The poles were of light copper with heavier silver tips for sticking deep into the ground. The largest, most luxuriously wild bonfire Lucy had ever seen was started up in the middle of the camp, and something that smelled simply delicious and made her eyes and mouth alike water, roosted over it. There was clapping and a few of the older men, including Farder Coram who seemed to be coming back to his old self again, sang cheerful songs. Ma Costa clapped and whistled lightly while her hawk added shrill notes here and there.

Once everyone's stomach was full-and many a Gyptian chap had gotten giddy on wine-they all retired into the tents they had been assigned to earlier by someone who was evidently related to Ma Costa, and went to sleep.

Hours later, Peter found that he was still awake. Doe had been sleeping on his chest and had, in her sleep, scooted up to his head at least twice, making it impossible for him to fall asleep. Also Reepicheep, who was of course a mouse again as a stallion would not have fit into the tent, was snoring at Lucy's side quite loudly.

"Agh, Doe!" Peter groaned in a sleepy voice, too tired and cranky to humour his pet. "Will you stop trying to sit directly on my nose?"

The cat let out a low meow and started kneading his chest with her front paws like it was dough, her face barely an inch away from his.

Peter let out another moan; maybe having a pet-fake dæmon or not-was over-rated.

Doe turned around full circle and her bottom ended up in Peter's face again. "You know, Doe, I really wish I was talking to the _other_ side of you." he murmured.

With a rough swish, the tent flap was moved back. Peter closed his eyes part-way so that, in the darkness, it looked like he was asleep although he could see a little bit through his light-coloured eyelashes. The man entering the tent wasn't a Gyptian, he was too fair for that, and Peter got ready to leap up holding a knife he'd kept from supper just in case it meant to try to harm poor little Lucy. But, then, he saw that the man's dæmon was a snow leopard and knew him at once for the Lord Asriel.

What is he doing in here? Peter thought-feeling his heart pounding as he wondered if Asriel suspected him of only pretending to be asleep, or if his dæmon could sense something amiss.

Lucy shivered slightly from the bit of cool air that seeped into the tent from the open flap. Peter had to fight back the urge to jump up and throw an extra blanket over her shaking shoulders; Reepicheep shuddered, too, huddling closer to his human.

Looking over at his dæmon and then back at his daughter again, Lord Asriel sighed and placed a woolen blanket over Lucy's small body. The snow leopard lightly dragged her paw along Reepicheep's rodent form and patted Lucy's covers around him.

"Sleep well, daughter." Lord Asriel whispered in an almost inaudible tone of voice-though Peter heard it.

Biting onto his lower lip, Peter willed himself not to blurt out 'thank you' to Lord Asriel as he left. The man was only doing the bare minimum of what he always should have done. He never took care of his own daughter, this was the first time he had ever even called her 'daughter', the first time he had ever spoken to her with actual tenderness that could be considered remotely genuine; why should he get commendation for that?

It was almost funny, Peter thought, how he could know a boy to be his sister's betrayer and not hate him, and then know a man to be his sister's own father, and well, hate him as deeply as if he were the betrayer. In a way, he was, wasn't he? Hadn't he hurt Lucy's mother? Hadn't he had an affair with a married woman? But then, if he was so horrible, why did the Gyptians favor him so greatly? None of this made any sense to him, his head was reeling. Doe, oblivious of his distress, let out a mew that sounded more like a ' _meep_ ' and went to sleep on his stomach.

When morning dawned, the Gyptians rose and packed up all their things, ready to set off on a march again. According to Farder Coram's brass compass, they were heading due north and would be arriving at Jordan by the evening. Peter was glad of it, but a little frightened when he remembered that surely educated scholars would see straight through his fake dæmon and know him for what he was right away-a boy from another world who had no real dæmon of his own. The Gyptians had accepted him, but would the scholars? Would they want to? Would they _have_ to?

Just as the sun was setting over a cultivated wheat field which Farder Coram informed him was property owned by the college, casting a warm, pinkish-orange light over the strangely misty plain, Lord Asriel announced that they would go on alone from that point. Non-protesting, Farder Coram nodded and shook Peter and Lucy's hands solemnly, telling them that his ships and camps were their ships and camps and if they ever needed him, not to hesitate to send word his way.

"Goodbye my dears." Ma Costa kissed them both goodbye on their foreheads. "And take good care of your dagger, child." she added for Lucy's sake.

"I will." Lucy promised, stepping away from the most motherly person she had ever known other than Peter's mother, Helen, with a few tears in her eyes.

Lord Asriel rolled his own eyes; he despised all things sentimental, much too rough a noble for such nonsense.

"Billy!" a voice suddenly cried out excitedly, a small-framed figure bounding out of the taller corner of the wheat-field.

It was a little girl about Lucy's age with wild, uncombed, light-brown hair a few shades darker than blonde. She was fair-skinned like Asriel, and her dress, while of very good quality, looked borderline-horrid, because it was stained and torn from running around. Her dæmon was currently in the from of an egg-yolk yellow butterfly with black-tipped wings; he fluttered a few inches away from her left shoulder.

"Lyra!" Billy exclaimed excitedly, rushing with both his hands out to meet the girl. His dæmon shifted into a white moth and banged into her butterfly playfully.

"You're back," Lyra grinned at him.

"Of course."

"You aint forgot about our war, then?" Lyra raised an eyebrow at him challengingly. "You lost the last bet we made just before you left."

"Double or nothing?" Billy tired.

"And what if I say no?"

Billy shrugged. "We Gyptian children can do anything you college-folks can, we aint afraid of no battle."

"Well," Lyra's mouth twisted as if she was trying not to laugh. "double or nothing, we'll see who wins."

"Lyra Belacqua!" Lord Asriel stepped out from the midst of the Gyptians looking cross.

Much as she tried to put on a reasonably fearful face, Lucy could see that Lyra was delighted that Lord Asriel had turned up, that she found his presence an exciting change, even more thrilling than that of Billy Costa.

Lyra's dæmon, Pantalaimon, beat his wings timidly. "Oh, Lyra, we're in trouble now! What a mess you've gotten us into!"

"Hush, Pan." Lyra whisper-hissed to him over her shoulder, turning her attention back to Lord Asriel. "Uncle Asriel, what are you doin' traveling with them Gyptians instead of in your fancy carriage and going through the city and all that?"

Lucy felt her forehead crinkle in confusion; Lyra Belacqua, Edmund's own half-sister, was Lord Asriel's niece? Well it would make sense, seeing as there couldn't be _that_ many non-servant kids at a college, but it was still something of a surprise.

"It's none of your business, Lyra, I come and go when and how I please," Lord Asriel snapped curtly, his eyes flashing angrily. His dæmon growled at Pantalaimon, who-now in the form of a small white ermine at his human's ankles-shifted uncomfortably. "what do you mean roaming about the wheat fields like a half-wild thing? Did you even have your lessons today?"

"The Master said I don't need 'em." Lyra came up with too quickly, blinking at Asriel in pretend innocence. "Says I'm plenty smart already and if I get any more smart, it wouldn't be fair to the scholars."

"Liar." said Lord Asriel, gritting his teeth at her bold-face fib. "What have you been doing all day?"

"Well, the scholars were busy and all that, so I was playing with Roger, he works in the kitchens, but he's gone back already for the evening meal."

"And why are _you_ still out?" Lord Asriel demanded harshly.

"I wanted to see the Gyptians come in." said Lyra, shrugging her shoulders; if she was afraid of her uncle, she didn't show it.

"Well you've seen them, so you'll be coming back to the college with me and the new scholar I'm bringing-and if you ever disobey the master and run off at odd hours again, you will be punished, do you hear?"

"Yes, uncle." said Lyra as he grabbed her hand huffily, his dæmon snatching up poor ermine-form Pantalaimon in her mouth by the scruff of the neck.

"Don't you take that surly tone with me, young lady, I'll whack you till your rear-end is sore." Lord Asriel muttered under his breath, though he seemed to be talking more to Lyra than to himself.

Looking over her shoulder, paying no mind to the possible future state of her bottom, too excited to be having the thrill of the Gyptians returning and Lord Asriel's visit at the same time, Lyra noticed Peter carrying Doe-who was clearly not a dæmon, but an ordinary cat-and Lucy who was a little girl just like herself with a mouse dæmon riding on her shoulder. Oh, it was a _very_ exciting day, wasn't it? She couldn't wait to find out who these people were and what they were doing here at Jordan, she was sure it must be a fascinating story, one that she-just maybe-could sit still long enough to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter takes place four years after this one.


	26. Getting married

Jordan College was a splendid university-a community all its own-resting in the heart of a vast and prosperous city not unlike the places called London and Oxford in the world Peter Pevensie, the youngest of all the current scholars at age eighteen, had originally come from. It was far bigger than Lord Digory's college (which had once seemed so very large, both to Peter and to his younger sister Lucy, who was twelve years old now) with grander, more ancient, architecture. Some hallways were even lined with real gold and many of the buildings' pillars were made of a rare gemstone-a mix of pure, white marble and unblemished crystal. High ceilings were covered in oil paintings straight out of literature and history themselves; angels and fairies often standing side by side, looking down at the people in the room with their brightly-painted eyes.

Lucy lived in a comparatively moderate room which she shared with Lord Asriel's niece, Lyra Belacqua. Her roommate's only particularly bad habit seemed to be that she could be something of an inventive and-unfortunately-compulsive liar at times. This was probably because the girl had never been taught-other than a few nasty reprimands from Lord Asriel-that telling lies was a terribly wicked thing to do. All the child had truly gotten to learn about telling lies growing up was that if you used them on this or that scholar, more likely that not, if they believed you, you could get out of an unwanted punishment. She rarely ever told lies to Lucy or Peter, however, because she'd quickly gotten attached to them both since they had first come to stay at the college four years ago.

She adored Lucy who, while much more honest and a bit less wild, was almost as adventurous as she herself was, and willingly consented to running all around the college property playing games when the scholars were too busy to pay them any mind or remember that they were supposed to be giving the charity youngsters lessons in geography, history, reading, and numerous other things. Lucy knew more about these things than Lyra did because Peter had been taking time to explain them to her all her life, and when he hadn't known the answer to one of Lucy's questions on those subjects, Mr. Pevensie had. Lyra had never had an instructor she found interesting enough to listen to, so she learned only a little about it. Besides that, on more than one occasion the scholars hadn't wanted to teach her what they were supposed to be explaining, they wanted to talk about their latest thesis or experiment or whatever; she would half-listen until they were done and then go and find something enjoyable to do.

As for Peter, Lyra was simply fascinated by him. While his lack of dæmon may have made some people a little nervous, it made Lyra fairly giddy with excitement. Not for any scientific reason as was the case with Mrs. Coulter, but simply because it was as if he didn't have a head-and what was more thrilling to a mad child like Lyra than a boy who had no head and yet could think and talk as well as the older scholars who _did_? Plus he was nice to her, he didn't just ignore her or tell her to keep herself clean and out of trouble, he talked to her and actually seemed to care about something besides the state of her knees after she'd been out climbing trees all afternoon. She often thought that if she wasn't allowed to be an explorer when she grew up (all her life she had been longing to travel north and had enviously watched her Uncle Asriel leave without her time and time again, wishing he would see reason and let her come along the next time), if they made her stay at Jordan as a young woman, she would probably have to marry him even if he was six years older than her. After all, it would be worse to be an actual scholar than a scholar's wife (Lyra had some sort of unexplainable distain for most lady-scholars) if it came to that, and in her practical little mind, she figured she liked Peter better than the others.

She told her friend, Roger the kitchen boy, of this once when they were sitting together on the college roofs (technically, they weren't allowed up there, but Lyra always insisted that they play there anyway-she could always lie about where she had actually been later, or just be plain vague when questioned), and he'd laughed at her, saying that once Peter became a very learned man, he would probably find some beautiful girl his own age, of high social standing as likely as not, and marry her.

"I'm sure Peter would much rather have proper lady he don't have to wait for-you'll take your time growing up, you being only about eleven-than an orphan. You yourself once told me you weren't a lady-that you didn't want to be one." Roger pointed out, not unkindly, looking down at college-pathways below with some unease; he was secretly a very little bit afraid of heights but had never dared tell that to Lyra.

"I aint never gonna be no lady, Roger, just like I told you-but I still might have to marry Peter Pevensie anyway, you see." Lyra explained calmly, not taking offence. Roger was her best friend, they'd known each other since they were toddlers and there wasn't much he could say that would upset her. Now, if Billy Costa had insulted her like that, she would have punched him because he would have been smug about it.

"No, I don't see." Roger had to admit.

"Dunno what proper lady would marry a man with no dæmon-his cat's just a dumb animal who follows him around because he feeds her, everybody knows it-and no one would marry me, either, cuz I'm an orphan and my uncle aint gonna make much fuss about it if someone proposes to me." said Lyra, spitting down on the head of a passing scholar below once she was sure it wasn't anyone she was fond of. "And besides, Roger, you know perfectly well that I aint eleven no more! I turned twelve months and months ago."

"Well I forget," Roger explained quickly. "cuz we're almost the same age, and I haven't turned twelve yet."

"Well, you _shouldn't_ forget." said Lyra adamantly. "I'm twelve."

"How old do you gotta be before you get married?" asked Roger, figuring Lyra would know. She knew much more than he did; he was only a servant.

"Dunno," Lyra said, watching as Pan, in the form of a brown cat, tried to catch Roger's dæmon who was currently in the form of a monarch butterfly. "but I hope it's ages and ages from now, I don't want to be married for years and years-then I'll marry-if I _have_ to."

"I don't think I want to be married at all, I want to be a valet to a rich bachelor who pays good money. That way, I'll be free from having any nagging wife bothering me all the time." Roger decided, nodding his head.

"Who'd hire you as a valet?" Lyra laughed. "At least my future is probable."

"Dunno, maybe he doesn't have to be a bachelor, maybe I can wait on your husband-Peter don't bother me and you don't nit-pick half so much as most females."

"That's settled, then." Lyra said, seemingly satisfied. "If I've got to marry Peter, you can be his valet."

Two days after Lyra's 'sensible decision', Peter was sitting down at breakfast with two of the younger scholars who were in their early twenties. Lucy and Reepicheep sat across from him with Lyra and Pantalaimon, quietly eating their oatmeal with cinnamon sprinkles. Or rather, Lucy was eating quietly; Lyra was slurping hers, a breach of manners the Master-who sat at the head of the main table-had all but given up trying to break her out of.

Taking a quick sip of orange juice, Peter slipped a bit of sausage down to Doe-who was getting quite fat, being horribly spoiled during the past four years-at his feet, then bit into a piece of toast and sighed. In truth, he loved Jordan College; it was familiar and safe. Just as Lord Asriel had promised, Mrs. Coulter hadn't come looking for him here. He hadn't even heard anything of the Coulters since his arrival save for a slim piece of gossip here and there that usually was about one of their stylish parties.

"Hey, hey!" laughed the scholar to his left, slamming a newspaper down a few feet away from the maple syrup. "Would you look at that! The Coulter woman's finally marrying off her daughter."

"What?" Peter gasped with his mouth full, accidentally spiting a bit of back-washed toast out at an unexpecting and hapless Lucy.

"Ew," said Lyra.

Reepicheep, in his larger mouse form with the golden band and red feather, pulled out his sword, thinking a food fight had just gotten started. "Who threw that?"

"Mrs. Coulter's _what_?" Peter gulped for air, feeling the room around him begin to spin faster and faster.

The scholar's dæmon, a red cock, ruffled her feathers and shrugged her bird-shoulders at her slightly-startled human. "Yeah, Susan Coulter's betrothed now, it's in all the local papers."

"Spoiled rich brats, those Coulters, the lot of them." said a wealthy young man on the left, fiddling with a purse full of gold shillings his parents had given him from their estate.

"I hear the Coulter girl's soon-to-be husband is so rich his servants couldn't count all his money, so he had them all beheaded." someone chimed in unhelpfully.

"That's terrible." said someone else.

"Now see? A girl like that will never learn anything about making a living on her own." said the man with the shillings, using the edge of one of the gold pieces to push back his cuticles while he spoke.

Peter tuned them all out and looked down at the article in the paper. It was announcing Miss Susan Coulter's engagement to some dark-complexioned fellow called Lord Rabadash; his dæmon was a rusty-coloured scorpion sitting on his right shoulder. Although the black-and-white photograph next to the article was a little grainy, the young dark lord in the picture seemed very handsome, and Peter was instantly jealous of him. Who was this man thinking he could just swoop in like that and marry Peter's...wait, she wasn't his _anything_ , really. They had been broken up for four years. Then why did he feel so bad? Why did looking down at the picture of the dark lord standing next to the beautiful girl he himself had once been in love with hurt so much? Why did he feel the urge to cry? Shouldn't he have been at least a little happy for her? Wasn't this what she wanted? To be a part of high-society?

She was stunning in that picture, but her smile looked-Peter thought, though he figured he was only imagining it-a little strained. No, she was perfectly happy with this Lord Raba-whatever the rest of his stupid name was, he couldn't deny it.

"Susan can marry whoever she wants!" Peter mutter-exclaimed angrily, standing up and storming out of the room.

The clang of his silverware and of his chair hitting the edge of the table rang in everyone's ears and they watched, dumb-founded, as Peter left, for the first time in four years, without finishing his breakfast. Doe slowly trotted out after him, thinking he must be in a terrible hurry to do some great thing and, if it was something great, surely he'd need her with him.

"What's with him?" Pantalaimon whispered to Lyra.

"Dunno, but he looked furious-like his whole face was gonna blow."

Lucy had never suspected until that very moment that Peter had had feelings for the Coulter girl. She felt rather selfish, having spent so much time thinking about how much she missed Edmund, wondering if he was alright, that she'd never realized how, all along, Peter had been suffering. He could have _told_ me, she thought to herself, I would have understood.

"He was in love with her all along, wasn't he?" Reepicheep realized, speaking in a voice so low only Lucy could hear it.

"Yes, he's been in pain-he's been in pain since before we left Bolvangar four years ago-and I never saw it." Lucy whispered, shaking her head sadly as she stood up, wondering what she could do to help her brother-if there _was_ anything, that is.

Meanwhile, Peter wandered the college grounds, fast-walking with poor, tired Doe panting at his heels wishing he'd make up his mind as to what direction he was walking in. As far as she could tell, they'd been pretty much going in circles for over twenty minutes now.

"It doesn't matter," Peter muttered to himself, trying to calm down. "she never loved me-she said so herself." But he had loved her-he _still_ loved her.

Why had she done that? Peter couldn't help wondering, feeling more than a little hurt and bent out of shape over the whole matter. Why had she let her dæmon tell him she loved him, let him kiss her, and then just broken up with him like that? Why had she walked away crying after it was all over? If she would only have told him what was going on...whatever it was...they could have...

"You could have _what_ , Peter?" he said to himself, looking down at his own shaking hands. "You know there was nothing you could have done. She didn't love you, and for all you know, she already had this Raba-oh why can't I remember the rest of his name? Ugh, it doesn't _matter_! Anyhow, she may have already had this lord on her mind-she loves _him_ , not you."

Well, it hardly seemed fair. What did Lord Rabadash (he finally remembered the full name in the heat of his anger) have that he didn't?

"Um, wealth, high social-standing, a dæmon..." Peter rattled off to himself, counting just a few of the advantages marrying Rabadash gave Susan. "Well," he added sulkily. "It's a very ugly dæmon anyway. I hope she and scorpion-man are happy together."

But of course, he didn't really mean that.


	27. A death thwarted

Watching a group of very tall, very dark men she didn't know all that well, friends of her soon-to-be bridegroom, laugh rowdily while guzzling down spiced wine as if it was about to go out of style, Susan Coulter leaned her back against the wall and tried not to be sick. Her dæmon, Maugrim, stood at her side with his fur all standing up in a tight bristled manner, his teeth were bared and he growled as if protecting her. It did some good; most men and their dæmons, whether or not they were giddy, tipsy, or just plain drunk, didn't just go causally strolling up to a large gray wolf with a look like that in his eyes. Even Lord Rabadash, her own betrothed, seemed a little hesitant to come over at first. Then, as if a light had suddenly turned on inside of him, his eyes began to glisten and he approached carrying something in his right hand-Susan couldn't see what it was at first, she was feeling dizzy and all she could seem to focus her eyes on was his scorpion dæmon riding on his shoulder.

"Hello, delight of my eyes," he greeted her with a smile just a bit too broad for her liking. She saw what was in his hands now; another glass of wine.

Susan winced and, though it made her feel a bit childish, drew back with her eyes widening prudishly. At seventeen years old, she often acted more like she was at least twenty-everyone talked about how sophisticated, mature, and grown-up she was, and usually they were quite right. Not tonight, however, tonight they were wrong. She felt afraid, she felt like a twelve year old who'd stumbled into the wrong party; but she didn't dare speak up and say that, Rabadash wouldn't have understood.

The engagement ring he had given her glittered on her finger-it was the largest diamond ever placed into a setting as small as a golden band. It was so beautiful, so alluringly pretty, and yet, as she looked down at it now, and then back up at Rabadash who's smile was very nearly a leer, it felt like a chain. She didn't love him; once, she really thought she had, her intentions had been true enough (even if _his_ were rather questionable), and her initial happiness over his proposal had been sincere. But she hadn't really known him then. She had only known the person he play-acted as in front of those he wished to impress. How could she have guessed how cruel he really could be? How was she supposed to know that he was wicked? Of course, she felt foolish thinking that maybe his scorpion dæmon should have been her first clue, but then, people didn't directly pick out what shape they wanted their dæmons to settle in, did they? Well, that was true, but it was still a reflection of who he was.

What was most surprising was that Rabadash and his dæmon had managed to fool, not only her mother, her mother's golden monkey, and herself, but also Maugrim. Clever Maugrim always on red-alert for danger hadn't sensed anything amiss until it was too late. How odd that no one had been able to warn her...no, Rabadash hadn't fooled _everyone_ , Edmund and his snowy-owl, Eleanor Glimfeather, hated him as passionately as Susan had mistakenly believed she loved him.

Something pressed against her lips; it was the rim of Rabadash's wineglass. Oh, god, Susan thought, willing herself not to vomit up directly on her dæmon's head.

"Drink it, O beautiful one," sighed Rabadash. "We must celebrate what's to come."

No, Susan thought, I can't drink it, I've already had too much to drink tonight and that was _before_ I started dumping the little sweet-shots you and you friends kept handing me into the plant in the corner.

The pressure of the glass increased on her lips until she thought it would cut into her skin like a blade. Funny how it didn't feel much different from Rabadash's kisses; he wasn't always gentle, not like Peter had been. Hot tears sprang up into Susan's eyes, and she prayed that Rabadash could not see them in the dark. His sort could smell fear. Did he know? Did he know that she no longer wanted to marry him? Did he even care? Probably not, she decided, he knows I can't back out now that everything already been announced and planned and that there's nothing I can do, that's why he's started to show his true self.

"So quiet tonight, my love who's beauty enflames me with passion." Rabadash cooed in her ear.

Even his breath seemed to cut like a knife on her earlobe; it reeked of sharp-mint mixed with fruit. Fruit was supposed to be good for you, but it had a nasty effect on Rabadash's over-all smell. As if the fumes of flowery spices that always wafted off of him and hit her in the face weren't already bad enough!

I have to get out of here, Susan thought desperately, if I don't get out of here right now-if I don't get home-I'll lose my nerve completely and he'll win, he'll win in more ways than one-and I don't want that.

"I have to go home..." she heard herself say in a tone of voice she instantly wanted to slap herself for having because it was so dull-witted and woozy-sounding.

"No you don't, my love," sighed Rabadash, his leer getting even bigger however impossible that night have seemed. "it's late, you'll stay here with us tonight, we'll watch over you."

So that was your plan, was it? she thought furiously; you schemed to get me dead-drunk so that I wouldn't know what I was doing and I would stay here with you? Have you lost it? Of course its late, that's _why_ I've got to get home, don't you understand? Well, I still have some of my senses.

"Home," Susan murmured, this time actually _trying_ to sound more out of it than she really was, thinking that if he didn't quite suspect her of out-witting him, it might be easier to get away.

"Your home will be with me soon enough."

His friends laughed and, getting a little tired of wine, ordered a keg of beer to be opened. Maugrim growled.

"I'm going." Susan said, letting her voice be firm, more concerned with getting out in general now than with fooling him. Besides, he was drunk, how much effort did she really need to put into pulling the wool over his eyes?

"I'm not taking you back to your mother's house tonight." Rabadash told her, raising an eyebrow challengingly.

Susan and her family-if it isn't already clear-no longer lived in Bolvangar. Mrs. Coulter still went up there from time to time to make sure things were going well and to hear about the new cutting methods, sometimes bringing Edmund with her, but Susan hadn't been that far north in nearly three years. The city they were in now was northern, but it wasn't wild and it wasn't remote. They lived in a grand house on one of the finest streets-Susan had never appreciated the six lampposts that always kept their broad corner brightly lit until she saw the darkness outside the tavern she was at now and despaired.

"I'll take a cab." Susan decided, not to be out-done.

"I'm not calling you a cab." Rabadash sounded a little angry, his words slurred together slightly.

Susan wasn't sure if the wetness on her cheeks were tears or else sweat beads but she didn't pay it any mind now. "I'll walk." Looking over at her dæmon, she added, "Come, Maugrim."

Rabadash reached out and grabbed her arm, not bothering to be gentle about it, digging his perfectly smooth nails into her delicate skin. His scorpion leapt down from his shoulder and landed on Maugrim's tail, stinging him.

The wolf let out a yelp, and Rabadash, thinking he'd won, grinned at the woman who he didn't want to wait another two weeks (when their wedding was supposed to be) to possess.

Susan smiled, too, because she knew something he didn't know: Maugrim had buried rabid rats bigger and stronger than that stupid scorpion, and he wouldn't take this lying down. Maugrim flipped his tail upwards so that the scorpion landed in his mouth after being airborne for a few moments, then he shook the little vermin up and down, tossing him back at a Rabadash who was so shaken up through his dæmon that he had let go of Susan and couldn't grab onto her again before she dashed out the door.

"Come on, Maugrim, run!" Susan said as she dashed down the cobble-stone streets, carrying her high-heeled shoes in her hands, running in her stocking-feet so that she could move even faster.

"Where are we going?" the wolf panted, racing along-side her.

"Home!" exclaimed Susan irritably.

"What's the point? We'll be taken away by Lord Rabadash in two weeks when he comes to marry you anyway." Maugrim groaned despairingly, whimpering as the side of one of his back paws hit a miss-placed dustbin.

"I hate him!" Susan shouted just for the sake of it. She hated him and she was sick of pretending she didn't.

"I hate _them_!" Maugrim howled, twice as loudly, thinking of that horrid scorpion-in comparison to this monster, his human's first love, a boy who had no dæmon, didn't seem so bad.

"Well, he can do and say whatever he likes, he isn't going to have me-not tonight and not in two weeks, either." said Susan, her jaw-line shaking with every powerful word she spoke.

Maugrim understood. "If we were going to do that, we should have done it sooner-I hate to admit it...but I don't like it, Susan."

"I'm sorry," Susan snapped sarcastically. "Did you _want_ to marry Rabadash?"

That shut him up.

"We'll get it over and done with tonight, Maugrim, before anyone can stop us-before anyone finds us out."

"Supposing they find out what you intend to do to yourself? What if they lock us away?"

"I'd rather be in an insane asylum than his wife if it comes to that." Susan said fiercely.

"Knowing him, we'll get _both_." Maugrim groaned.

"I have to try- _we_ have to try." Susan whispered, shaking her head sadly.

When she arrived at the front door of shimmering cherry-wood with its gleaming brass handles shinning in the late moonlight, Susan trembled. Would a servant be in waiting there? Ready to scold her? Ready to demand where she had been? Or worse, how she could have left with Rabadash and come back alone and breathless at that hour?

A servant was there, but not one she dreaded or worried over, it was only her brother's manservant, Trumpkin the dwarf. Originally, he'd been Edmund's valet only in Bolvangar, but the two had gotten to be such good friends and were so fond of each other that he now went pretty much where ever the family did. He was holding a tray containing an empty milk-glass; Susan breathed a sigh of relief. If Edmund had meant to stay up and wait to see what time she got back, surely he had failed at that and fallen asleep by now, warm milk always made him sleepy. Unless, of course, it was _cold_ milk, that could keep him up for hours. She fought the urge to run her finger along the inside of the glass to feel its temperature, not wanting to seem too paranoid on the last night of her life.

"Dogs and door-pins! Lady Susan, are you alright?" Trumpkin asked, taking in her tired, sorry state, his voice gruff-toned but kindly.

"Yes, I'm fine, I just need to go up to my room and rest for a while." Susan told him, eyeing the tall, winding black-and-white marble staircase with the long golden railing. Her bedroom was up there-the last room she would ever get to see.

"You look tired, lady, would you like me to bring up something for you?" Trumpkin may not have been _her_ servant, but he was as patient and good to her as if he were.

Dear Trumpkin, thought Susan, as she, without thinking, bent down and planted a quick kiss on his bearded cheek.

"What was that for?" the dwarf asked, clearly taken aback.

"Nothing, Trumpkin," she sighed. "But, if you please, is my brother still awake?"

"I believe he fell asleep not more than a minute before you arrived; he was dreadfully worried about you."

"Trumpkin," Susan felt her eyes over-flow with what was surely tears this time. "will you do something for me?"

"Of course, my lady."

"Tomorrow, when everything is quite different-will you tell my brother that Susan said he was right all along and that she's very sorry? Oh, and that she does love him, and not to think whatever did or did not happen was his fault?"

The dwarf put the tray aside and dared to reach out and clasp her hands. "But Lady Susan, whatever do you mean-"

"Please, by tomorrow it will all make sense, don't ask until tomorrow."

Seeing her distress, but not understanding what it was she meant to do, Trumpkin nodded. "It shall be done, my lady."

"Oh, and tell Rabadash, if he comes here-" Maugrim pawed at her skirt, knowing his mistress meant to have Trumpkin say something disrespectful to that horrid lord. He had to warn her to think while she was still ahead. It was best for Rabadash to be told nothing at all-besides, what if he got angry at Trumpkin and tried to harm him?

"On second thought, forget Rabadash," Susan amended, shooting a thankful look down at her dæmon. "just pass on the message to Edmund like you promised. Goodnight, Trumpkin."

Once she reached the top of the staircase, Susan turned down the opposite way from her room, towards where her mother and brother's rooms were.

"Susan, what are you doing?" Maugrim asked harshly, his wild, dog-eyes widening with fear. "I thought we were going straight to our room and-"

"We are Maugrim, after a moment-do be quiet." Susan said shortly, taking the last few steps down towards the cream-coloured double-doors that led to her mother's bedchamber.

She opened the left door a crack and peeked in. In the darkness of the extravagant, lily-scented room she could see the frame of Marisa Coulter fast asleep without a care in the world. This was the moment where she was supposed to look upon her mother and feel a wave of forgiveness hit her; but it didn't strike so clearly. She didn't exactly hate her mother, but any love she'd once had for the woman had seeped out of her veins four years ago. Susan knew exactly what moment it had started to drain out, too. It wasn't when her mother hadn't stopped the golden monkey from hurting Maugrim, it wasn't when she had held her wrists so tightly, it wasn't even when she had looked so innocent about what she had just put her own daughter through. No, all of those things Susan had forgiven long ago, though she couldn't completely forget them. What hurt so badly, like a wound that would not heal, was the look on Peter's face after she told him she didn't love him. _That_ was what she could never forgive her mother for. For making her inflict that sort of pain on him.

Countless times when she hadn't been able to fall asleep at night, she'd played that last moment between them in her mind. His voice, "Susan-" and hers saying, "I can't see you anymore." His love for her had been real, and he'd only ever wanted to be there for her, and she-because of her mother-had treated him like garbage. She wondered if he knew of the engagement and what he thought about it. Her mind constantly replayed every possible situation he might be in, every possible place he might have ended up, all except for the ones where he was gone forever-where something happened to him.

Sighing heavily, she closed her mother's door. No, she thought, even if I am going to end it all tonight, I don't have to forgive her-not for that-for everything-anything-else, yes, she's forgiven, but not for that. Never for that.

Next she visited Edmund's bedroom. It was just as large as their mother's but less fancy. These double doors were a blackish-blue with a carving of a owl on the right side. Susan ran her fingers over engraved owl as if it were her brother's Eleanor, whispering soft, inaudible goodbyes to it. More than anything, she was longing to open the door and see her little brother one last time, but she knew he was a light sleeper and would awaken instantly if she went in there to whisper to his sleeping form and to let Maugrim place his paws upon Eleanor's soft feathers. So, she turned back to her own room now with a heavy heart, thinking of her brother. She prayed he'd be able to forgive her, to forgive her for everything. Everything included what she was about to do to herself.

"I hope he's not the one who finds me tomorrow morning, Maugrim." Susan whispered to her dæmon once they were safely behind the silvery doors of her bedchamber. "I would hate for that to happen."

"But it might," the wolf warned her. "you know it might."

"It could just be a servant," Susan insisted stubbornly. "can't you humour me tonight Maugrim? It's our last night together, too."

"Yes, I can't say I'm too pleased with you deciding to put me out like a light without my consent." Maugrim said, half-joking darkly.

"Well, if you want to go stay with Rabadash and his scorpion for the rest of your life you may want to speak up now..." Susan arched a brow at him.

"Fine, then, go on." Maugrim let out a soft, whinny bay.

"Stop that noise, someone will hear, and I'm trying to think."

"Of how we're going to go?"

"Yes."

"Just poison yourself-isn't it the quickest way?"

"A dagger would be too messy." Susan said, ignoring his comment-she didn't want to drink anything, she would be afraid of it not working and just making her sick for all her pains.

"I dare say it would!" Growled Maugrim. "And painful, too!"

"Alright, I've got an idea." Susan grabbed a gold-thread rope that was used to hold back the lacy curtains on the large window on the rounded corner of the chamber and tied it into a collar-like loop.

"You're..." Maugrim hated to hear his powerful voice shaking, but couldn't help himself this time. "...going to hang yourself?"

"Nonsense," Susan told him. "what if my neck didn't break right away, a fancy mess we'd be in!"

"So what's it for?" Maugrim demanded, squinting at her.

"I've thought about it and if all those children had to die because they were torn away from their dæmon because of my mother...and I never did anything to try and stop it...should I deserve the same fate?"

"You're going to tear us apart?" the wolf was dismayed and appalled. "How _can_ you, Susan? Don't you know it would hurt _less_ to hang yourself? Have I been such a terrible dæmon to you?"

Susan dropped the rope on the bed and ran over to him, throwing her arms around his neck. "No, Maugrim, no! You've been wonderful, and I do love you-you're my own soul-but this is for the best."

"Goodbye, Susan." whispered the wolf.

"Oh, Maugrim!" sobbed Susan, stroking his fur in a backwards manner she hadn't used since she was a little girl. "I wish there was some way for me to die without harming _you_."

"Don't be ridiculous, you know there isn't." said Maugrim; there were tears in his eyes now, too. "In all respects I _am_ you, I'm your dæmon, how could we ever be comfortable apart in this world?"

"Goodbye, dear Maugrim, can you ever forgive me?"

"Only if you can forgive me."

"Yes, always, Maugrim,"

She walked back to the bed and picked up the rope, putting it around Maugrim like a collar. The other end, she tied to the bed-post. He nodded at her, urging her to be done with it as quickly as possible, he couldn't endure it being dragged out much longer.

Shakily, but with great determination, Susan started walking as far away from Maugrim as the room would let her. She felt uncomfortable, but she didn't feel the pain of splitting; she opened her door. As she started to step into the hallway, her head spun and a buzzing rang in her ears. Maugrim, panicked, tried to run to her, but was held in place by the rope. There it was, then, the splitting, the pain, she just had to keep walking further and further until she dropped. But she couldn't, it hurt too much, it was far more painful than she'd even imagined it could be. Plenty of children had played that silly gave with their dæmons growing up; seeing how far they could go from them; but it was never like this, they didn't restrain their dæmons, this was serious.

Susan felt her knees buckle as she collapsed onto the floor she took deep breaths, this was it, in a moment, it would all be over. Pain burned and stabbed at her insides, but she held firm, closing her eyes and resting in the darkness behind their lids.

"Susan!" Maugrim cried before he became weak and his voice faded into a dull-sounding bark.

Shortly before dawn, Edmund woke up with a terrible feeling in his stomach, knowing-though he wasn't sure _how_ -that something was very wrong.

"Ella, I've got the most awful feeling." he said, climbing out of bed and putting his feet on the floor. He was still in his clothes from yesterday, having been too anxious about his sister going out with that awful Lord Rabadash again to bother changing into something suitable for bed. As it was, he didn't even remember falling asleep to begin with.

"Did Susan ever come back?" Ella asked timidly, twisting her owl-head all the way around.

"I don't know." Edmund admitted, feeling the tremor in his voice as he raced to the door with her flying right behind him. He didn't care that it was an ungodly hour and that Susan would probably be furious about him waking her up if she was there; the worst she could do was moan about her hangover and hurl a pillow at his head shouting, "Edmund, get out!"

On his way to his sister's bed chamber, Edmund felt his blood run cold. She wasn't in her room, she was sprawled out in the middle of the hallway carpet with her eyes closed and her breath shallow.

"Susan!" He cried out, running to her and bending down at her side. "Susan...wake up..."

She didn't stir and her eyes didn't open.

"Susan!" Edmund tried again, grabbing her by the shoulders and giving her a light shake. "Susan, please..."

"Where is he?" Ella cawed, flapping her white wings in terror. "Where's Maugrim?"

Edmund let go of his sister, placing her limp body back down gently, and ran into her room to look for Maugrim. The wolf was squatting by the bedpost, his eyes barely clinging to a glimmer of life, shaking all over. His gray fur looked almost sallow and he seemed unable to make so much as a single sound.

Why doesn't he run to her? Edmund thought before he caught sight of the rope that held him in place.

"The rope! The rope!" Ella bellowed in a terrified tone.

"Yes, I can see the rope, thank you!" Edmund snapped at her, his fingers struggling to undo the knot Susan's thin, bony little fingers had managed to loop so tightly together.

When Maugrim was finally released, he looked a little stronger, but it was doubtful that he would be able to move as quickly as Edmund would have preferred. Ella nudged him with her beak and the poor wolf staggered out of the room and over to his mistress, a voice slowly returning to him, whimpering like a lost puppy.

"You don't think she actually managed to cut herself away from her own dæmon, do you?" Edmund whispered, voicing his fears, knowing that such a thing was irreversible. If she had only _tried_ to do it, and failed, she would be alright, but if not...he thought of the children at Bolvangar-her fate would be worse even than theirs because she'd tried to do it without any help or cutting chambers.

Maugrim licked his mistress's forehead and let out another whimper. Susan's breathing returned to normal although her eyes remained closed. In her deep sleep, she reached up a hand and touched her wolf-dæmon. Edmund hoped that meant they were still connected to each other.

Bending down again, he lifted up his elder sister and carried her back to her room, placing her on the bed. Four years ago he could have never managed this, light as she was, but he was about fourteen now, and much stronger than he had been before. Maugrim climbed onto the other side of the bed and curled up next to Susan.

Two agonizing hours ticked by and just before Edmund could give up in despair, Susan's eyes fluttered open.

"Su!" he jumped onto the bed and threw his arms around her. "Oh, Susan, are you alright?"

Susan swallowed hard, trying to figure out what was going on. Wasn't she dead yet? Was she hallucinating or something?

"What happened?"

She didn't try to hide it from him; she realized she had failed now. "I tried to kill myself."

"What?" Edmund's entire face seemed to recoil and he pulled back from her slightly. "Why?"

Her body shook and she started sobbing. "I don't want to marry Rabadash, I hate him."

Edmund laughed so hard that it sounded more like a roar, and he hugged her again, holding on tighter this time. "Oh, dear sister, I would have loved you less if you had taken him."

"But, Ed, surely I'll have to marry him now." her voice was small and mouse-like.

He laughed again. "No you wont."

"But Edmund-"

"You should have come to me from the first." Edmund told her, not harshly, but in a very firm tone all the same. "I'm going to help you get out of this, I promise."

"How can you help?" Susan wanted to know.

He lowered his voice. "I helped Peter and Lucy escape from Bolvangar, didn't I?"

"Oh you did?" Susan laughed now, tears of joy replacing her wails of sorrow. "I'm so _glad_! Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Edmund shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, I guess we both had our secrets."

"Oh, Ed!" Susan embraced her little brother again, wishing she never had to let him go, that she could stay for ever partly smushing the life out of someone who's concern for her was genuine.

"Let go, you're choking me." Edmund freed himself from his sister's grip. "Besides, there's no more time for this, we've got a plan to come up with!"


	28. Susan Pevensie

"I don't know where to go," Susan sighed, leaning her head limply to the side, resting it on her shoulder wearily. Maugrim, who was laid out on the rug beside the soft chair his mistress was seated in, let out a doggish-whine and put his head down on his paws. "even if I do get away."

"Well, I guess that depends on what you want to do." Edmund told her pointedly, glancing over at Ella who ruffled her feathers and peered down at Maugrim sympathetically.

"Not marry Rabadash, that's all I want-to get away from him."

They'd been shut away together in one of their sitting-rooms with the doors locked, trying to come up with a plan for almost an hour, and they didn't seem to be getting anywhere.

"Yes, of course, but what about after? I mean, what do you want to do with your life once you get away from him?" Edmund sounded so much older and wiser than his fourteen years; Susan sounded rather childish in comparison.

In truth, she didn't know what she wanted anymore. Growing up, she always thought she wanted to be the wife of some rich noble, her mother had always made that life sound so easy and glamorous-even happy, like something right out of a fairy-tale. But now, she didn't want that anymore-in a manner of speaking, she was fleeing from that life just as she was fleeing from her supposed-to-be bridegroom. What noble would want her after such a massive engagement with a man of as great an importance as Lord Rabadash went down the drain? What man-whatever his station-would be unafraid to take her for a wife now and not fear the wrath of a certain dark lord? She had never had to think about a career or money or anything of the sort before; she felt at such a loss. Edmund might have been okay, running off on his own, he might make it-he was tough enough-but was _she_? Well, whether or not she was by nature didn't matter, she _had_ to be, it was her only hope.

"Where would you go?" asked Susan; feeling embarrassed, she looked away briefly.

"It's not about _me_ , Su." said Edmund, rather tersely, getting a bit frustrated with her. Did she really have to pick now of all times to become subjective and slow-witted? She needed to show her courage and be more than a pretty ornament shaking in her seat-this was getting annoying fast.

"Edmund, do you know where Peter and Lucy might have gone when they left Bolvangar?" Her face flushed scarlet, and she raised a cup of tea she had been mindlessly swirling with her pinky finger up until that point to her lips.

Edmund looked a little uncomfortable himself, shifting awkwardly in his chair. "How should I know?"

Susan could tell just by the look on his face. "You _do_ know, tell me." she ordered.

"You wouldn't tell mother, would you?"

"Would you tell mother I don't love Rabadash and mean to run away from him for ever?" she retorted, sending an ice-cold glare her brother's way.

Edmund smiled weakly. "To be honest, I don't know where they are right now, the last I heard-it was four years ago, mind you-they were in Norroway."

"How did you find that out, Ed?" Susan wanted to know.

"Mother has her spies, and I have mine." Edmund replied demurely, trying to look calm and confident.

Susan folded her arms across her chest and tightened her glare until he understood, without shadow of doubt, that she wasn't buying it.

"Okay, I found out from Tumnus," he caved, laughing a little. "alright?"

"How did Tumnus know?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I may have asked him to do me a favor and find out-he couldn't track them passed that point."

"Edmund, do you think I could escape to Norroway?" Susan asked boldly. She knew what it was she really wanted now; she wanted to find Peter and beg his forgiveness for the way she had treated him, and to tell him the truth, and to see him and his little sister safe and sound.

"They might not be there anymore." he reminded her sort of quietly.

"Surely someone there would know if a boy with no dæmon left and where he might have gone."

At that, Edmund looked scornful. "You don't really think Peter would have been stupid enough to parade around there shouting, 'hey, look at me, I haven't got a dæmon!' do you?" he scoffed indignantly.

"But somebody must have seen _something_!" Susan insisted, shaking her head determinedly, her mind made up. "Besides, Norroway isn't far from here, and, really, where else could I go?"

"If you don't find the Pevensies, what do you intend to do in Norroway?" he couldn't help challenging her with that; she'd always been so sensible and forth-right in her planning-where was this coming from?

Susan shook her head. "I don't know," Maugrim snorted at the concerned expression Ella was glancing at him with. "just help me get there, Edmund, I'll figure the rest out on my own." Or, she thought, Peter can help me, if-no, _when_ -I find him.

Though he had his doubts and fears about it, Edmund gave into his sister's notion, feeling that after all she'd gone through-nearly killing herself on top of it all-he could not deny her this little thing. "Norroway it is then."

"So how do I get there without being caught?" Susan pressed fearfully, putting down her tea cup and curling her fingers into tight fists stretched around the arms of the chair.

Leaning in so close that their faces were inches away from each other and no one else, not even a servant who might have been spying or a mouse crawling in the air vents above them, would be able to hear. "Tomorrow morning, have your warm clothes ready and a small bag packed."

Susan nodded eagerly and Maugrim's ears perked up, his breathing getting heavier with the excitement and novelty of it all.

"Oh," Edmund stood up half-way and reached for something hidden under the cushion of his own chair: a long, almost floor-length, velvet cloak as black as midnight itself. "you'll need this as well."

He watched his sister's fingers tremble as they locked themselves around the soft velvet, her eyes full of joy, fear, and thankfulness all at once.

"This is really happening," Susan murmured, speaking more to herself than to her brother. "I'm really doing this."

At half-passed noon the next day, Susan stood at a city platform covered by the cloak, the hood pulled over most of her face so that no one could see her, the fine silver-thread traveling-dress she was wearing completely hidden as well. At her side stood Maugrim, he had rolled in soot earlier to make himself look darker-coloured, and he constantly bent his joints hoping it made him appear a bit smaller so that he might pass for a blackish husky-dog instead of a gray wolf. He almost could, actually, except for his paws which were far too big for any dog-only a wolf would have such paws-but if no one looked closely at them, who would notice?

"Maugrim," whispered Susan, willing her shoulders to stop shaking so violently. "do you think anyone's looking for us yet?"

The wolf rolled his eyes. "Of course people are looking for us, you're the daughter of a lady, and you've been missing since this morning."

Susan reached out and pulled the cloak even tighter around herself. Shutting her eyes, she remembered what Edmund had told her as he hugged her goodbye earlier: "Whenever you're scared, Su, just pretend the cloak is magic, that it can make you invisible-that no one can see you. You're in a place where no one can touch you."

Of course she thought that was pure nonsense; there was no such thing as a magic cloak, and playing such games at seventeen was ridiculous! But, in a way, what he said did make her feel safe and protected after all. Not because she believed in magic-or tried to pretend she did-but because the cloak had been her brother's. It was his cloak, and though he wasn't with her at the platform, he was still protecting her somehow through it. The clasp was made of dull, faded brass and she causally rubbed her fingers along the cool metal as if it were a shield that could keep her from harm.

"Are we really going to travel on a public train?" Maugrim winced, eyeing a man a few feet away with a wild, untamed mob of white hair and a messy, stained, unkempt beard; he didn't smell so good, either.

Susan didn't answer that knowing that Maugrim already knew the answer. In truth, she was slightly troubled by the notion, too, but it really couldn't be helped. She would certainly need to bathe after traveling with the common folk, though, that was for sure.

"Has anyone seen a girl with raven-coloured hair and a wolf dæmon?" a familiar, oily, but also strangely powerful voice boomed.

Oh, god, it was the Lord Rabadash himself-with a little group of his friends. Glancing over at them as she peered out from under her black hood, Susan could see that several of them carried spears. They knew she was running away! How could they have found out so quickly? Did they suspect Edmund of helping her? Was her mother out looking for her as well?

 _I'm invisible, I'm invisible, I'm invisible._ She held her breath and tried to convince herself that they would not see her. But how could they not? She was standing only a few feet away-her only protection a perfectly ordinary cloak that could not protect her. Her brother did not inhabit it; just because it had been his didn't mean he would be able to protect her now-this was all madness.

As Lord Rabadash and the other men in his party walked by her, Susan lowered her head and Maugrim hid himself under a near-by bench where a few elderly persons with sun-hats were sitting waiting for their train to come in. The man who would have been her husband did not notice her, he kept on walking, still searching for his stray bird.

"Maybe I _am_ invisible." Susan whispered to herself.

"What was that?" Maugrim chuckled in disbelief, coming out from under the bench again. He knew exactly what she had just said, he was merely trying to tease her about it.

She blushed and smiled to herself. "Nothing." Not even to her dæmon would she admit that for a split-second she had almost believed in magic. Lord Rabadash simply had not recognized her, they had been lucky, that was all.

"Come on," said Maugrim to his mistress. "your dark-faced lover is far away now, he wont hear us purchasing the tickets."

With the grace of a queen, Susan stood tall, her shoulders back, the cloak trailing behind her like the train of an old-fashioned ball-gown, and marched over to the ticket window.

A short, red-bearded dwarf who looked, she thought, enough like Trumpkin to be his cousin or perhaps even his brother-if he had one-raised a bushy crimson eyebrow at her.

 _He thinks I'm up to something, surely he does!_ "I would like to buy a ticket, please."

He chuckled, clearly amused. "I didn't think you meant to buy a basket of apples and roses."

"To Norroway, the first available train." said Susan, wondering if he really _was_ related to Trumpkin seeing as he had such a similar dry-humour about him.

"Name?" said the dwarf.

This was what she had been dreading the most. She couldn't tell him she was Susan Coulter-even a common worker like him would know who she belonged to and where she was supposed to be. He might even know that she was a runaway. There might be a reward, and Mrs. Coulter had a lot of money, who _wouldn't_ turn in her daughter? Still, refusing to give him a name would only raise suspicions. Everyone here got their names punched into their ticket...it was just how the system worked. She would still be Susan, she decided, but with a new surname.

"Don't tell him who we are," Maugrim warned her in a low hiss.

"Susan," she swallowed hard and cleared her throat. "Susan Pevensie." She'd ask Peter's forgiveness for stealing his surname later.

Maugrim's mouth fell open. His lady had _not_ just used that name! Was she completely insane?

The dwarf didn't press her. A girl named Susan Pevensie with a husky-dog (he didn't notice the wolf's great paws) was not suspicious in the least. And as for the dark cloak, well, it was a chilly day, anyone might wear a cloak to keep themselves warm, nothing odd about that-best let them be going, no need to hold them up any longer. He pulled out a few official stamps and pressed them down on the ticket documents.

"Here you are, Miss Pevensie, the one-thirty train-seat 4A-have a good trip." His voice sounded automatic, like he had said those words so many times to so many people that they had lost all meaning, but the notion of being wished well and actually getting a chance to escape was so thrilling that part of Susan almost wanted to cry out in gratitude for his 'kindness'.

She tamed this absurd impulse by smiling superficially, biting onto her lower lip, and taking the ticket papers from the dwarf with as steady a hand as possible.

"You're lucky he didn't ask to see any proof of identification." Maugrim snarled at her once they were safely out of ear-shot, waiting for their train to arrive. "What were you thinking, taking the dæmonless boy's surname? Why don't you think before you-"

"Oh, shut it," Susan pouted at him, a scowl etching itself between her thin, dark eyebrows. "I had to give the dwarf a name, so I took the first one that came to mind!"

"Humph!" snorted the wolf, tossing his darkened, slightly-shaggy head back, looking unconvinced. "I think you _liked_ saying that, and that you did it on purpose, like you're pretending to be married to him or something."

"What do you know?" Susan responded coldly, not about to admit that Maugrim wasn't that far off from the truth. She did wish she was married to him; how she could have ever let him go and then let herself believe she liked-even loved-that horrid Lord Rabadash was beyond her. She hated herself for doing that and half wanted to slap Maugrim for not being a better judge of character in the first place. Still, she knew she couldn't pin all of her mistakes on her dæmon-she rarely listened to him anyway.

A roar and a screech so loud that Maugrim's ears flattened and he grow-roared at nothing out of pure annoyance, droned out Susan's thoughts for a moment and suddenly the train was right in front of them. It was a large, unpleasant-looking thing, not at all like her mother's Zeppelin, but they would have to make the best of it.

Grimacing, she took her right hand and folded it over the outside edge of one side of the black cloak, clutching the ticket papers in the folds in-between her fingers and the velvet cloth. Taking a step forward, she boarded the train, Maugrim right behind her, his nose turned up with complete and utter disgust knowing that there was nothing else to be done-this was their life now.

"Tickets?" a kind-faced elderly man in a dark-blue uniform, holding a pocket watch made of solid brass in one hand and a stack of train-papers in the other, arched a pale white brow at the hidden figure that was no longer Susan Coulter, but an unknown person called Susan Pevensie.

"Here you are," said Susan, handing him the tickets as quickly as her right hand could shoot them out into his wrinkled palm.

He squinted down at them, getting a bit blind in his old age. "Aye, yes, miss, official...good...go on, then, seat 4A."

It was working! She was going to make it to Norroway! Susan raced down the narrow space to where her seat was. The cushion was lumpy and the little cabin-like abode was cramped, but she didn't care about that at the moment. All that mattered was that she was going and would soon be gone.

"Do you still have the engagement ring Rabadash gave you?" Maugrim whispered, placing one of his paws in her lap.

How could I be such an _idiot_? Thought Susan, her face feeling hot and her heart pounding wildly, I'm still wearing the ring! If anyone sees it...oh no, why didn't I think about that before?

Lifting up her left hand, Susan ripped the ring off her finger and got ready to throw it over to the other side of the cabin; let whoever sat there get an unusually valuable keepsake-it would be their lucky day.

"What are you _doing_?" Maugrim opened his mouth wide and breathed heavily on her as if he intended to bite her arm as punishment for her stupidity.

"What's it look like?" Susan snapped, the ring gleaming dangerously in view of anyone who might happen to come that way as she held it up. "I'm getting rid of the bloody engagement ring."

"Don't do that!" Maugrim growled angrily, swatting at her with one of his paws.

"Why not?"

"Two reasons, Susan." he rolled his eyes and growled again. "One: if Rabadash is still searching the stations and he discovers that the ring he gave you was found on-board a train bound for Norroway earlier, he'll come after us."

Susan couldn't decide if she wanted to embrace her dæmon for being so clever or else wanted to smack him for it. "And what's the other reason?" her hand was already lowering itself, convinced even before Maugrim's mouth opened again.

"Two: we can sell it some place-when we figure out how to do so safely without being caught-and use the money until you can get a job...I don't anticipate you working as a tavern wench in an out-post town."

"Oh..." she could practically hear the trace of, 'you moron' in his tone. Of course she should have thought of that herself, but she was a little confused, after all, she, Susan Pevensie, had just come into existence not more than twenty minutes ago-it was confusing-and a bit sobering-not being the Coulter girl anymore.

"We've got such an awful lot to learn, don't we?" sighed Susan airily, looking out the window as a rush of greenish scenery blew passed them.

"Susan?" whispered the wolf, his voice much smaller now.

"Yes?"

"I hope we make it."


	29. Of love, cowboys, and armour

When the train finally arrived in Norroway, Susan stood up groggily and stifled a yawn. The trip had been exhausting; every moment she was terrified that someone who knew Rabadash or her mother, or simply about her life in general, was going to recognize her and spoil everything. She tried to tell herself that it wouldn't happen that way-they were after Susan Coulter and she wasn't that person anymore, that person no longer existed as far as she was concerned. Still, she was afraid. Maugrim seemed a little restless, though far more at-ease than his mistress, save for whenever someone had passed by their cabin more slowly than he preferred. At those moments, his fur would stand on edge and his ears would become alert-and Susan would shudder, holding her breath, waiting.

The air smelled like fish, Susan noticed as she stepped off the train and looked around. No one seemed to take any note of her, a few people in a hurry even pushed by her without bothering to say, "Excuse me, my lady." This was a whole new experience for her, this disregard for her person. Maugrim was rather cranky and snarled at a wayward dæmon or two until his mistress ordered him to be quiet.

A near-by bay was over-flowing with ships. Many of them, she knew, must have been Gyptian ships. She withdrew even further into the comfort of the black cloak's hood, not wanting any of _Them_ to recognize her, either. Her mother had taken countless numbers of their children in the past, she couldn't blame them for wanting revenge or being wrathful.

"They might even want to kill us, Maugrim, or hold us hostage then give us back to mother if she meets their demands-which would be worse still." Susan warned her wolf-dæmon, realizing, not without a bit of nervousness, that he was looking a little less sooty now and more like his real self. "We'll have to keep low until we can find Peter and Lucy."

"Edmund told us that Tumnus said a man was with them, but he didn't seen the man's face." Maugrim mused, looking around, scanning the area with his keen eyes. "Who do you think it might have been?"

"I don't know." Susan admitted. "I only hope he was good to them."

"The child who had her dæmon cut away wasn't with them,"

"Of course she wasn't," she sighed softly, feeling guilty for being her mother's little pet-puppet all these years and never seeing what really mattered. "she wouldn't have made it this far."

Maugrim hung his head out of respect for the dead child although it had been four years since she'd passed away. "Susan?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"What if the dæmonless boy...what if...while he's still alive and well...if he's..."

Susan's brows sank lower on her forehead out of confusion, not quite sure what her dæmon was getting at.

"What if he's found someone else?" the wolf's voice was gruff, but not unkind, only trying to prepare his lady for what she might not have thought about up until that point.

"You don't think he _would_..." Susan cringed and the lower part of her face tightened into a pitiful-looking recoil. "...so soon after?"

" _You_ almost did," Maugrim reminded her, shaking his head sadly. "and it has been four years."

Susan felt like someone had slapped her across the face and then punched her in the stomach afterwards. "Don't let's think of that now, Maugrim."

"Look, a tavern." said Maugrim, ready and willing to change the subject, as he turned his nose in the direction of a rather simple-looking building to their left.

"If I never see another tavern in all my life, I'll be happy." Susan said huffily, remembering with disgust how Rabadash had tried to get her drunk at taverns on more than one occasion.

"But maybe the bar-keeper knows about the Pevensies." Maugrim explained shortly, understanding her distain, but knowing she had to get over it.

"Why would Peter have been at a tavern?" Susan demanded, folding her arms across her chest under the cloak. "That's the most absurd idea-"

"People tell the bar-keeper everything they see." said Maugrim.

"Drunk people," Susan retorted.

"Well, who else do you propose we ask?" the wolf whined pointedly.

Susan pouted and stomped her foot, pushing the door to the tavern open and walking in rather sulkily.

"Ah, a mysterious stranger," said the bar-keeper, a red-faced, friendly-looking chap with bright blue eyes and a hazel-nut brown beard that grew all over his very round chin. "what can I get for you?" He could tell she was a lady even if he couldn't see her face, so he quickly added, "Miss?" His dæmon, a pretty little chipmunk seated on the counter, cleaning her tiny brown face, looked up at Susan and twitched her nose.

"I've something of an inquiry, sir," Susan explained softly, approaching the row of bar-stools, more than a little surprised that there was no one else there besides herself, the bar-keeper and a sleeping old man with a thin line of drool dropping down from his lips onto his baggy trousers; his dæmon a pot-bellied gray boar.

"Madam," he laughed good-naturedly, shaking his head to hide the faintest trace of a blush that the beard couldn't completely cover. "no one has called me 'sir' in years. I am no 'sir', only a common man with a common mind, and a common job-tell me, what is it you wish to know?"

"This is going to sound crazy..." Susan warned him, inhaling deeply. "...but do you know of a boy-young man, rather-in these parts with blonde hair, blue eyes, and no dæmon?"

"A man with no dæmon?" His brows came together to form a straight line across the middle of his forehead and he looked at her with a bewildered expression. "Are you playing some sort of joke on me, lady?"

"No," said Susan, in all seriousness. "I am not."

"Then you are mad." His tone was not a playful one, but it wasn't really a voice people generally use when addressing the mentally unwell, either.

"I reckon a friend of mine will know somethin' of the young gentleman you're on a scout for." A wide-brimmed hat rose from the dark corner in the tavern, a foot away from the man with the boar-dæmon, and Susan saw that there was another person there after all.

He was a tallish man, neither fat nor thin, with white hair that grazed the tips of his shoulders. His chin was clean-shaven, but he had a prominent white mustache the same hoary-white colour as the long hair on his head. He had warm eyes that reminded one of a grandfatherly person and a twitching, know-it-all sort of mouth. His accent was very different from that of anyone else Susan had ever known-he spoke like a cowboy. For a dæmon he had a large artic hare who Susan thought looked more like an over-grown jack-rabbit one moment, and more like a creature of a deep beauty, too splendid to be a mere hare or rabbit the next.

The bar-keeper chuckled and rolled his eyes. "I'll leave you two crazy people to talk alone, then." he went into a back-room, his chipmunk hopping down from the counter and scurrying after him.

"So, you're a-looking for a boy with no dæmon, eh?" said the white-haired, cowboy-voiced man.

"Good lord, when you gonna learn to mind your own business and not bother people, Lee?" said his dæmon, glancing apologetically at Maugrim.

"I do beg pardon, lady, but I couldn't help hearing what you asked the bar-keeper as I was sitting right here."

"That's alright." Susan assured him, thinking perhaps he just might know something of Peter's whereabouts.

"I'm Lee Scoresby, an aeronaut by trade," he smiled over at his dæmon. "and this old girl is Hester."

"I'm Susan Pevensie," Susan said quickly, motioning with her chin at her own dæmon who was thinking that new surname of hers rolled off her tongue with a bit too much ease. "this is Maugrim."

"Howdy." said Hester.

"Hallo." Maugrim's voice came as a rumbling growl, but not a mean one.

"Please, Mr. Scoresby, what do you know of the dæmonless boy?" Susan asked, wondering why he was looking at her so intently, almost as if he knew her very well and-secretly-didn't think as highly of her as he would have liked to.

"I know nothing of any such person, but as I told you before, I do reckon that a friend of mine does." Lee Scoresby shrugged his large shoulders and took a sip from a wide-rimmed glass of beer that had been set out for him by the bar-keeper earlier.

"Who is your friend?" Susan mustered up the courage to ask, barely daring to believe she was on the right track already-not when her mother and others might have been hunting down Peter for years as far as she knew.

"I warn you, he's a bit temperamental these days." Lee Scoresby winked at her, though she couldn't guess why. "He lives in the shed-like place out back."

" _Lives_ there?" Susan couldn't imagine what sort of bum would live in a run-down junk-heap barely suitable for an out-house.

"Spends his days mending broken machinery and drinking whiskey whenever he gets free time-that's what they pay him, you know." he explained, shaking his head gravely.

"Poor fellow," she felt pity for him now. "what happened to him? Why doesn't he ask for money and..."

"Money is of no use to him...he's lost something far more valuable."

"He's a man...?" Susan double checked.

"Bear," Lee Scoresby corrected her.

"Oh!" Susan's expression clouded as her blue eyes peeked out from under the hood, and she looked less sure of herself all of a sudden. "A b-b-bear? I thought you were talking about a man...I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a bear."

"Of course you will, sweetheart," Hester said, hopping forward, her long ears pricked up. "but you'll be fine."

"Is he safe?" Susan asked sheepishly, feeling about twelve and very dim-witted.

"No, but he's good enough." answered Lee Scoresby.

"I don't like this, Susan," whispered Maugrim, touching the top of her foot with his paw. "a bear isn't safe-even his friend doesn't pretend he is-and how would he know anything about Peter to begin with?"

"It's worth a try, Maugrim." she sighed, thinking that, if they were going to give up so quickly, just because of a bear, they shouldn't have bothered with all their plans of escaping to Norroway in the first place.

"You'll be going to talk to him, then?" Lee Scoresby twisted his neck and looked at her from a different angle.

"Yes, I am." Susan decided, speaking boldly-as if his simple neck twist had turned away all her fear. Maugrim let out a disagreeable snort, even though he knew perfectly well she wasn't going to take any notice of it.

Caressing the cloak's clasp, struggling to gather up inner strength she wasn't even sure she really had, Susan left the tavern and headed towards the bear's hideous shed-home; Maugrim trotted out behind her with his tail up in a prim fashion.

Looking at the piles of refuse with a disgusted expression written all over his face, the wolf reminded his mistress no less than four times in one minute that it wasn't too late for them to turn back. She didn't listen, of course, and he had known all along she wouldn't, but he still tried.

Dirt and grime clung to the bottom of her dress and the cloak and caked themselves all over her shoes. Still she pressed on, trying not to throw up or scream-either of which she was more than capable of doing at the moment.

"I think you stepped in something." Maugrim said, sniffing at her feet.

Susan whimpered; she liked her clothes, even if they were for traveling only, and now she'd probably have to burn them when she was through; her shoes, too. It was such a shame, she thought sadly. Maybe the cloak could be cleaned, but velvet wasn't easy to wash-or so she had heard her maids and washer women whisper to each other sometimes.

Once she reached the door of the bear's shed, Susan called out, "Hello?" and wished she'd been smart enough to ask Lee Scoresby what the beast's name was.

No one answered, so Susan took a deep breath that nearly burned her nose-hairs to a crisp, and walked over the threshold into the shed itself. It was rather like a barn with hay and straw tossed about everywhere-a very messy barn. Clearly no one cleaned up here; broken bottles were on the floor in millions of tiny shattered pieces that would have shimmered if there was any light in the dusty, grim so-called building for them to catch. Random stacks of metal were everywhere, too, some of which was horribly rusty and seemed far passed the point of being useful.

"Maybe he's not home," Maugrim suggested right before a ferocious roar droned him out and an enormous snow-white paw spotted with reddish-coloured stains was pressed against Susan's chest.

Susan let out a scream and Maugrim called out her name, wincing from fear and pain-though it was more pressure than anything else. The force of it pushed her back against a wooden post behind her and she leaned her head on it as her hood fell off, revealing her whole face to the creature who's eyes flashed at hers angrily.

Was this it? Had she been rescued by her brother and escaped to Norroway only to be killed by a white bear before she had a chance to find the Pevensies again and apologize to Peter? She started to weep from the shame of it all. "No...please..."

"Please what?" snarled the bear, a hurt expression hidden behind a show of his deep rage, his breath reeking of the endless bucket-loads of whiskey he consumed. "Please don't kill me?"

"No," Susan whispered, a few tears sliding down her face, rolling off her chin, and landing with soft plops in the hay below. "please tell me if you know anything about a young man with no dæmon."

Maugrim growled and tried to bite the bear, but one blow with his free paw put an end to that. The wolf landed in a hay stack, shaking like a fragile autumn leaf.

"Why should I tell you anything?" demanded the bear, pressing down harder on Susan's chest until she thought it would soon become difficult to breathe.

"Because I love him." she spoke these words with some pain-for her chest was beginning to ache terribly-but it was no worse than the emotional pain giving her lover up four years ago had caused.

His voice softened a very little bit, but his paw didn't get any lower or shift away, a couple of his claws lightly scratched her neckline. "Why should I care about that?"

"Is there no one _you_ love?" she choked, the world seeming to get dimmer and dimmer by the second.

"I loved my armour," said the bear in an almost tender voice, bright, shinning tears far larger than Susan's own springing up into his great eyes. "and it was taken from me."

Suddenly Susan realized that this was not the first time she and this bear had met; their eyes had locked once before. Years ago, when Susan had been a very little girl, they had been in Norroway for about twenty-four hours and her mother had helped some local officials get one of the great panserbjørner dead-drunk. Afterwards, they had tricked him out of his armour and insisted he give them labor for almost nothing. Susan remembered the bear's eyes filled with despair, looking at her as if pleading for help. And, not without a bit of self-hatred, she remembered how she had looked away, shoving her hands into her warm, ermine-fur muff lined with diamonds, told her mother she was cold, and asked when they were going to go indoors and get warm, never giving the poor humiliated creature a second thought.

"My armour was my soul, just as your dæmon is your soul; it was made from sky-iron, and it was _mine_." the bear exclaimed, shaking his head. "Your mother took it from me-you can pretend you are someone else, but I know exactly who you are, Susan Coulter."

"Couldn't you make new armour and run away?" Susan felt the pressure of the bear's paw letting up a bit and was able to speak more freely. "You could go back home-where ever your home is...or _was_..."

"If I stole that gray wolf from you, could you replace him with a mere dog or a stuffed toy?" the bear's tone was curt and sarcastic, but she figured she probably deserved that.

"It must have been awful for you," said Susan, feeling sorrier for the bear even than she did for herself at the moment. "losing something that meant as much to you as Maugrim does to me."

"You can't even imagine such pain." the bear told her.

Susan smiled faintly. "Actually, I think I almost can...I lost a lover once...the dæmonless boy I asked you about...it felt like a knife came and cut half of my heart out."

"Well, I can't go to war, like a proper bear," he growled, his expression growing wilder. "I cannot kill, like a proper beast, but I can kill you now...if I want to."

Susan knew where the bear's armour was, she had seen her mother tell the men to keep it locked away-she remembered now...it was all flooding back to her. Should she tell him and save her life? No, she should tell him, but not because she wanted to protect her own skin; she should tell him because it was the right thing to do.

"Iorek Byrnison, that's your name, isn't it?" she said softly, blinking sympathetically at him. "I think I remember someone calling you that all those years ago."

"Yes," his voice was almost gentle now, touched by her caring tone. "that is my name."

"Iorek Byrnison, I know where your armour is."

"You do, do you?" the bear's snowy brow lifted curiously.

"They locked it away in the district church by the sea-port." she spoke so honestly that it never occurred to the bear, untrusting of the Coulters as he was, to disbelieve her. "They should not have taken it from you, Iorek Byrnison, you ought to be allowed to take back what is yours."

"Susan Coulter," the bear removed his paw from her chest and smiled at her so warmly that she knew at once they had become friends. "No, I know you are Susan Pevensie now, that surname does better suit you, you've proven that much to me."

"I've only told you to take back what is yours...besides..." her voice faltered slightly and she looked discomfited. "...they may have moved the armour...I am not certain...I'm sorry..."

"No, they are smug, they haven't moved it-they wouldn't have." said Iorek as Maugrim came out from the hay and stood by his mistress, waiting to hear what the bear would say next.

"Will you go and take your armour today, Iorek?" Susan wanted to know.

"Yes, but first I owe you a debt for trying to kill you unfairly-it would have been a cruel murder and you were kind to me. You gave me the first ray of hope I've had in the longest time." Iorek explained, beaming at her. It is not often that one of the panserbjørner will beam, but it is a very wonderful, strangely comforting, awe-inspiring sight when one does. "The dæmonless boy and his sister-who is not his sister-went to the lesser peninsula with the Gyptians."

"What do you mean 'is not his sister'?" Maugrim blurted out, feeling curious and, quite frankly, a little stunned in spite of himself.

"The little girl, the one he calls his sister, is not related to him by blood-they smell different from each other." Iorek explained, edging over to the shed's open door-like entrance space. "And it's not just because her scent is partly masked by sky-iron, either, the girl must have originally come from our world-though she might not remember."

But Susan was somewhat down-hearted in spite of her unwavering determination to find her lost lover. She kept thinking that if Peter had gone with the Gyptians, it would be nearly impossible to follow him. What Gyptian would trust her, telling her how to reach him? Well, even if they wouldn't help her, she wouldn't give up and stay here in Norroway, not now that she knew Peter had left it a long time ago-she had to find a way to get to the lesser peninsula. Which was easier said than done, but still.

"I will not forget what you have done for me, Susan Pevensie." Iorek promised Susan with a deep nod, so regal that she could never forget its grace and elegance as long as she lived.

With that, the white bear charged out of the shed and ran down many busy roads, knocking over peddlers and carts and official stands, paying it all no mind-it was little enough payback for all the years of slavery the town had forced upon him. Once he had his armour, though, he would be free at last. Susan and Maugrim followed him, but had a hard time keeping up as he got nearer and nearer to the church.

They stood, watching breathlessly, as Iorek, far more beautiful and wildly powerful than anything they'd ever imagined in their lives, roared and, with a blow from his mighty front-paws, knocked down a wall. When he came out from the shattered, grossly dissembled, formerly religious, white-washed wood and gray stone building, he was wearing his armour. It was a rusty-red mix of golden-copper and it gleamed in the sunlight. In his mouth he held a tome which was clearly not a prayer-book; he dropped it at Susan's feet and roared out at the town in general, declaring his victory.

Susan bent down and picked up the book; it was leather-bound. She opened the cover part-way and managed to catch a glimpse of a rather shocking title (something to do with alethiometers) before she heard cries and shouts from the town-people. Knowing a huge row was about to start over Iorek breaking the church wall and reclaiming his armour, she quickly pulled the cloak's hood over her face again and hid the book in the soft folds between the velvet and her silver dress.


	30. Another runaway

Susan thought she had never seen a more infuriated crowd than those officials in their dark uniforms who instantly surrounded Iorek and demanded of him how he dare break into their beloved church. There were only about a hand-full of them in total, and none of them seemed to be of the particularly religious sort, but they had large rifles and heavy ebony-coloured whacking-sticks, so no one, least of all Susan who wanted nothing more than to escape unnoticed, mentioned this.

"What if they manage to shoot him dead?" Maugrim whispered; neither he nor his mistress wanted to see their new friend, the white bear, harmed, but it certainly seemed to be heading that way.

That is, it seemed to be heading that way until the first shot was actually fired and it simply bounced off of the great beast's armour with a barely-noticeable _ping_.

"Aim for the empty spaces in-between his armour-plates!" one of the officials who was clearly a head-man, exclaimed, him and his men re-loading their rifles.

"I wouldn't do that if I was you." A small pistol was pointed right at the man's cheek, and he lowered his gun-just a very little bit-out of nervous instinct.

"Susan, look!" Maugrim exclaimed, nudging her ankle with his paw. "It's Lee Scoresby!"

And indeed it was. The white-haired cowboy was standing there, looking far more fierce, but also far more aged, in the open daylight. His hands on the little gun, however, were not those of a shaking old man, but those of a rough, well-bred, western who knew his place and kept himself there, insisting that others also do the same. Even his force and anger were not shown in an unkind light, only a very stern one; one people listened to.

What was more, long before any of the officials could stand up to Scoresby and demand of him a reason for his actions, or attempt to rid themselves of him by getting him tossed into the local jail-house, a very large number of Telmarine Gyptians wearing warish green armour over their night-coloured tights and indigo doublets, came bounding through the area chasing a tall, slim figure in a hooded cloak very like Susan's own, only dark-purple instead of black. The figure's dæmon was a bird of some sort-it flew by too quickly for anyone to get a proper look at it.

They were not after the officials and they could have cared less about Iorek of the panserbjørner, Lee Scoresby the aeronaut, or the broken-into church, but they charged by at such a speed that they unwittingly-and uncaringly-knocked over two of the men with rifles.

"Reinforcements?" Lee Scoresby mouthed to the men, asking if they really wanted to take that risk-find out whether or not these Telmarines were on his side-or if they would call it a day.

Shaken, the men nodded, admitting defeat to the white bear proudly clad in his own armour, his soul a part of him again. And then they gathered up their weapons and headed for home. They could have questioned the Telmarines, except Gyptians were very important to the town's funds, what with them coming and going in their ships all the time, and no one wanted a possible strained relationship with such important investors. After all, they would need to save up as much money as possible now to hire themselves a new metal-worker; for Iorek had no need of their sprits anymore and would-they knew all too well-no longer give them anymore free labor.

As for Susan, though both Iorek and Scoresby began looking for her, she was no where in sight. Startled by the Telmarine Gyptians-some of which looked a great deal like those she had fought on the day she and Peter met for the first time-she had quickly edged herself backwards into an alleyway to hide until they passed. She hadn't counted on the cloaked figure they were chasing getting the same idea (after all, who would have wanted to hide in a trash-heap that smelled like dog-pee if they could have avoided it?) and running down the very same alleyway, bringing the Telmarine Gyptian pursuers with them.

The figure, apparently well-aware of the fact that it was being gained-on, jumped behind a dustbin, accidentally knocking a hapless Susan to the ground and landing on top of her. Her hood fell back and the figure saw who she was, noticed that she was about to scream, and he (for it was a man) quickly put his hand over her mouth. Maugrim wanted to cry out, but he could feel the pressure of the man's palm and fingers around his own muzzle through his human's fear and pain, and the bird-dæmon (who turned out to be a seagull) looked at him very threateningly. They were laid out there on the cold, damp, foul-smelling cement-and-wood ground for what felt like a long time until the Telmarine Gyptians who had been chasing the cloaked man passed by, thinking he had gotten out of the alleyway through to the other side.

"Don't scream, Miss Coulter, I'm not going to hurt you." the man's voice came out from under the hood-it was thickly accented and very familiar.

Susan tried to talk but his hand was still over her mouth, so all that came out was, "Hmmph!"

"Oh, sorry." He quickly removed his hand. "What was that?"

"Get off me!" she exclaimed, lifting her knee, ready to give him a swift kick in the privates if he didn't.

"Alright, alright," he grumbled, grunting as he stood up and offered her his hand to help her back to her feet. "it isn't as if it could have been helped."

"Your voice," Susan blinked at him, trying to place that accent and tone-she knew she'd heard them both before.

"Susan!" said Maugrim, eyeing the seagull and knowing at once what his mistress didn't. "Look at the gull!"

"Caspian?" Susan gasped, realizing who the man under the cloak was. Caspian was one of those rare people whose dæmon happened to be the same sex as themselves, and that alone made him rather easy to identify. The seagull was clearly male-Maugrim could sense this almost right away.

"Not so loud..." Caspian took off his hood, showing her his face. "...I'm sort of running away."

"Me too," Susan whispered, surprised that they suddenly had something huge in common after all these years of enmity.

"I figured as much;" said Caspian, glancing from her to Maugrim to his seagull with a look of unsurprised indifference. "Your betrothed and his band of thugs ransacked at least four Gyptian homes and burned down two ships looking for you."

Susan's eyes widened. "He _what_?"

"Always causing trouble for us," Caspian clicked his tongue. "I figured you would get sick of it sooner or later and try to hide away from it-most wicked people do...after a while."

"I am not wicked." Susan scowled at him, angry that this man, who clearly wasn't that much better off than she herself was, could tell her off like this. "If I was wicked, I should love Lord Rabadash, but I don't."

Now _that_ surprised him; his eyebrows shot way up. "Really? I didn't know you didn't love him, I figured he gave you an inferior ring or else you had some silly lover's spat with the man."

"Nonsense!" said Susan, indignantly. "I hate _him_ , not his ring."

"So that would be what you're running from?"

"Of course."

"I see," said Caspian.

"Well, then, what about you?" Susan put a hand on one of her hips and glared at him. "What were those men after you about?"

Caspian looked pained and his face tightened. "My uncle is trying to kill me."

"Miraz?" Susan remembered the uncle's name.

"That's the one." he said grimly.

"Why would he want to kill his own nephew?"

"He's gone quite mad, Susan Coulter,"

"Please stop calling me Coulter." Susan couldn't help interjecting tersely.

"Sorry," Caspian said, not sounding as if he were actually sorry at all, only annoyed and wanting to get on with the rest of his story. "Anyway, he has some very strange ideas now and wants to take over many of the Gyptian clans."

"What has that got to do with you?"

"My father was born of a higher rank than he was, he wants those titles for himself and for his new-born son, which means getting me out of the way."

Isn't it funny, thought Susan, how many Gyptians would scoff at upper-class lords and ladies like my family and get very angry over their fights to reach the top, and yet, among their own people, are those like Miraz, doing the very same thing. Caspian and I, age old rivals, might not be so different after all.

"You should hear some of the weird stuff my uncle can come up with!" Caspian exclaimed, barely noticing the pensive look on Susan's face. "I mean, the man's obsessed with the idea that if some persons-like myself, for example-can have dæmons that are the same sex as them, then surely it is possible for a person to get a dæmon who can take on a human form."

"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard." Maugrim said flatly, snorting and tossing his head back. "Dæmons have animal-forms, that's how it's always been-that's how it's _supposed_ to be. Anything else is unnatural!"

"It's perverse," agreed Susan, shuddering and wincing at the notion.

"You don't need to tell me that," said Caspian, shaking his head. "but trust me, if anyone ever wanted to get my uncle to do something for them-anything at all-the only thing they'd have to do, would be to offer him the chance to get a human-form dæmon, and the man would go to the outer limits of his abilities."

"You have a strange, strange family, Caspian." Susan told him.

" _My_ people never tried to take away children's dæmons." Caspian sneered coldly.

Angry, Maugrim leapt up and gave Caspian's seagull a nip on the lower part of his right wing. "Ow!" cried the gull. "Stop getting him upset, and let's be going."

Rubbing his arm, Caspian turned to leave, but was stopped by a large man with a cowboy hat and white-hair. It was Lee Scoresby, he'd managed to find them. "Is this feller giving you any trouble, Miss Pevensie?"

"Is that what you call yourself now?" Caspian chuckled incredulously, sighing to himself. "Where on earth did you come up with a stupid name like that?"

Susan clenched her fists, and if she was more of a fighter by nature-or if she'd had a bow and arrows on her-she would have attacked him for saying that. As it was, she was still clutching the leather-bound book. It had been pressed rather hard into her abdomen when Caspian had landed on top of her; she was feeling rather sore, not up for a fight.

"Some," Susan answered Scoresby through clenched teeth.

"I see," said Lee Scoresby, looking very intently at Caspian. "You one of them Telmarine Gyptians that came charging through here and saved our skin?"

"Something like that." Caspian muttered, unable to look the man in the eye.

"Where you headed to?" asked Scoresby in a gruff voice. "I hear from Iorek that the lady will probably be heading to the lesser peninsula, you goin' anywhere in that direction yourself, boy?"

"Yeah," he admitted, the seagull clanking his beak in a soft, repetitive fashion. "I'm going to the lands near Jordan College; I have some distant reletives there who might be willing to hide me."

"On the run, are you?" Lee Scoresby asked, his dæmon lifting up one ear curiously while the other remained flat down.

"Wait, you aren't suggesting we travel together?" Maugrim growled, not wanting to be stuck with Caspian and his seagull for the whole trip.

"I reckon it would be convenient." Scoresby shrugged his shoulders. "I could take you both there in my ship."

"Is it in the sea-port?" Caspian asked, not knowing that the man he was addressing was an aeronaut, not a sailor.

Less than four hours later, Susan and Caspian were both up in the sky, looking down at the world below from the aeronaut's ship, clutching the railing. They were both afraid they would fall, but even that fear could not dissuade them from looking. Iorek was on the ship, too, but he was dozing behind a curtain, having no interest in sight-seeing. The seagull flew as far away from his master as he could, zooming through the near-by clouds for a few moments before turning back, knowing he couldn't go quite that far from his human.

A few days passed, and as unlikely as it would seem, Caspian and Susan became friends. They each told their runaway stories to each other indirectly through Scoresby, and-secretly-each thought the other had been very brave, and learned to admire that fine quality. The way they soon laughed together, one would have never suspected she was the daughter of Mrs. Coulter and he was the son of a late Telmarine Gyptian clan-head.

One evening as they stood side by side, looking out at the stars, which, though they were really quite far away, seemed so close that if either of them had been more imaginative by nature, they could have pretended that they could reach out and touch them, and Lee Scoresby and Iorek were asleep behind the curtain, Caspian leaned forward and tried to kiss her.

At first she started to let him, but no sooner had their lips touched than she remembered Peter and pulled away. She couldn't betray him again, she told herself, she was done hurting him.

Caspian blinked at her in confusion. In her story to Lee Scoresby, Peter had barely been a footnote (she didn't even use his last name when talking about him) and it had mostly been about how much she hated Rabadash and wanted a different life for herself, so he wasn't completely aware that she was still in love with the dæmonless boy.

"I'm sorry," Susan whispered, suddenly feeling how cold the night air was, wishing it was warmer. "I-"

"Is it the boy I saw you in the woods with four years ago? The one without a dæmon?"

Susan nodded. "Yes."

"You're in love with him."

It was a statement, not a question, but Susan answered it anyway. "Yes."

"I've been stupid, _I'm_ sorry, Susan."

She put her hand on his arm. "No, I should have never let you think..." Maugrim cleared his throat sympathetically.

"It's fine, really." Caspian lied quickly, trying to pretend it didn't bother him that the girl he'd started to like quite a bit was already in love with someone else.

"I'm going to bed." Susan told him, going behind the curtain with Maugrim and resting on Iorek's side next to Lee Scoresby and his dæmon.

Caspian figured he should turn in, too, but he didn't want to sleep just yet. His sleeping place on the ship was usually between Scoresby and Susan, and he didn't want to be that close to her after what had just happened. He would get over it, he knew he would, he just needed a little time alone to think first.

A soft sigh came from behind him, and he spun around so quickly that if he hadn't been holding onto the railing, he would have fallen right out of the air-ship. "Who's there?"

His eyes widened and his seagull let out a caw. Sitting on the edge of the railing on the side opposite to his, was the most beautiful woman Caspian had ever seen dressed in a single long garment of silvery-blue. Even Susan was rendered 'merely pretty' in comparison to the glowing goddess of a lady sitting there. Her skin was as milky-pale as moonlight and her eyes were dark blue, under lashes so white that they looked almost translucent. Her hair was a mass of wavy golden locks that came down to her slim waist.

"Where's her dæmon?" whispered the seagull, noticing that the beautiful lady appeared to be alone, before Caspian told him to hush and started to approach the lady as if in a dream or a trance.

The woman didn't speak to him; she threw herself backwards off of the ship and seemed to fly away into the air and then disappear altogether.

"Who was that?" Caspian breathed, wondering if he'd imagined the whole thing.

"I don't know," whistled the seagull. "but I liked her. I would like to see her again someday, perhaps when we're done with all these runaway adventures."

"So would I." said Caspian, smiling to himself, although he wasn't sure why. At any rate, he had all but forgotten about his sudden-now fleeting-romantic affection for Susan.


	31. Fighting wars and watching love

Lyra Belacqua sat at the edge of the muddy bank that ran through part of Jordan College's meadow property, teetering on the border of the Gyptian's camp. Lyra didn't mind the Gyptians one bit; many of them were her friends-except for whenever she and the other local college children declared war on them. It was quite amazing how the Gyptian parents never got riled up about the children's wartime actions, even when it inconvenienced them. Although she knew her parents hadn't had-in all likelihood-so much as a drop of Gyptian blood in them, Lyra liked to think that her dead folks, whom her Uncle Asriel had told her were called the Count and Countess Belacqua, had been at least half so brave. She believed they were splendid and beautiful simply because she didn't remember them, and she was almost as good a storyteller as she was a liar in some ways, if only she were a little less practical about it. Through her own little fables, they had become closer to the God and Goddess Belacqua, watching over her, than whomever they had really been when they were alive.

Pantalaimon was currently in the shape of a dark brown moth flying around the murky-waters while his girl looked to see if she could catch a frog. A few hopped by, but they were too quick and Lyra lost interest. Instead, she began making a perfect mud-ball, so firm and stinging on the outside, yet it would be delightfully drippy when it hit its target. It was so perfect, that if she had been a very little bit younger, she would have gotten over-anxious to throw it and have wasted it on the nearest tree. As it was, she waited, eager to discover if it would become useful or not.

Suddenly a voice hollered, "I'm gonna get you!"

And a sharp woman's voice Lyra knew belonged to Ma Costa, Billy's mum, rang out after it, "Billy, you get back here and leave Lucy be, you hear?"

Of course Billy heard, but the war was back on now and he intended to capture the hand-maiden to General Lyra, thus getting the upper hand. So, needless to say, he didn't stop running along with the other Gyptian children gleefully gaining on the Pevensie girl. Ratter squeaked repeatedly and followed at his heels.

Roger grabbed onto Lucy's hand and pulled her along with him, trying to get her to run faster. "Come on, Lu, we can make it, run!"

Lucy laughed uncontrollably, the wind whipping her long hair every which way as she clung to Roger's wrist with one hand and lifted up the skirt of her rust-red dress with the other. Reepicheep, currently in the form of a black rabbit, hopped along side Roger's dæmon who was-at the moment-a collie.

In spite of their best efforts, Billy Costa was still hot on their heels; and that's where Lyra's perfect mud-ball would come in nicely.

"Let's go get 'em, Lyra!" Pan cried out, shifting from his moth-form into a masked-face, brown ermine, and landing with a light plop on her right shoulder. Lyra gave her mud-ball a light squeeze and smiled to herself.

Ahead of them, Lucy tripped and fell, taking poor Roger down with her, and they were surrounded by Billy Costa and the others. Billy had a mud-ball of his own.

"You are now our captives!" Billy announced, holding up his mud-ball about to toss it at Roger's arm, worried about hurting Lucy even by accident and getting the dæmonless Peter Pevensie mad at him. "You've gotta do whatever we say!"

Just then, however, a mud-ball struck Billy Costa on the back of his head. He spun around and saw Lyra laughing heartily at him, Pantalaimon sticking his tongue out at Ratter.

Fake-glaring at the General, Billy prepared to throw his mud ball at her, but she ducked and it hit a hapless Gyptian boy about a year younger by mistake. The boy scowled at him, pouting his lips.

"Come on, let's go!" exclaimed Pan, shifting into a moth again as Lyra helped Lucy and Roger up onto their feet and urged them to start running away from the meadows back towards the college (it was almost sunset, they had to be back soon anyway).

Roger started to lag just a bit behind the girls. Lucy turned around half-way and gasped, "Roger, hurry!"

"You're a runaway captive!" Lyra reminded him with wide eyes as they turned a corner and dashed down a cobble-stone street all the way to a small yellow-rock path leading up to a small iron gate.

Billy and his little gang noticed Lyra, Lucy, Roger and their dæmons all passing through the open gate to the back entrance of the college and started to follow.

"Stop!" Lyra spun around and bellowed right in their faces. "If you want to live, come no further!"

"Why?" Billy cocked his head to one side and bent down to pick up Ratter. "We captured the squire and the hand-maiden fair and square."

"This aint no war-game, Billy Costa." Lyra said, staring right into his eyes while Pan shifted into a pole cat and arched his back up ominously. "Don't you know what this gate is?"

"Dunno what you're on about," said Billy, raising his eyes and blinking his lashes in a superior fashion. "it's just the back-door to your stupid college."

"There's a curse on this gate." Lyra lied, half-smiling over at Lucy who looked down at her feet, trying not to laugh. Roger gulped to swallow a giggle and keep the serious-look on his face. "I'm surprised you don't know it, you bein' a Gyptian and all that."

Billy's chin quivered and twisted, trying to decide if he thought she was making this up.

"Crossing this gate..." Lyra paused dramatically. "...is worse than touching someone else's dæmon with your bare hands!"

"Oh yeah?" asked Billy, daring to take a single step closer. "Why aint nothing happen to the three of you, then?"

The words rolled right off of Lyra's tongue without hesitation. "Oh, it's cuz we live here-we got safe passage, see."

It did sound logical, but he wasn't thoroughly convinced yet. "That the real truth?"

"My mother's the one who put the curse on this gate in the first place," Lyra prattled on, her tone a bit cocky now.

"What mother?" Billy demanded, a scowl etching itself between his dark brows. "I heard you was an orphan and your uncle only left you here cuz nobody wanted you."

"Come 'ere and say that!" she shouted crossly.

Billy took a step forward, letting one of his feet cross the line between the gate and the street.

"Don't, Billy!" cried out one of the other Gyptian boys in an agonized tone, frightened for his friend.

"You should listen to your mate," Lyra warned him. "They got this special room where they deal with trespassers. Them scholars, I mean."

"Rubbish."

"Aint rubbish," she insisted coolly. "they've got this poisoned gown, right? And it burns you alive!"

"I don't believe it."

"I'll prove it, I'll steal it." said Lyra, a mite too quickly. "You can have Roger and Lucy..."

Instantly Roger and Lucy turned and glared at her, feeling rather betrayed.

"...but only so long as you try it on."

Roger bit his lower lip and Lucy did her best not to look too relieved, understanding that Lyra must be up to some trick and probably didn't really intend to hand them over to the Gyptians after all.

"Alright," Billy Costa had never been one to back away from a challenge. "You can bring it with you tomorrow."

Lyra nodded firmly, a stern, determined look in her young eyes.

"Or else," Billy cautioned her.

"War!" Lyra knew all too well, reaching out her hand to give his a firm shake and close the deal.

"Okay, sun's setting," Billy chirped cheerfully, smiling as though they hadn't just been arguing a moment ago. "I gotta go."

"See you later, then." Lyra smiled back just as happily.

Lucy and Roger shook hands with all the Gyptian children who weren't afraid of the gate now that Lyra had declared it cursed and said goodbye to Billy, too.

"Are you really going to hand us-Lucy and me-over to them?" Roger wanted to know, his currently wolf-pup dæmon whimpered at his side.

"Course not!" Lyra assured her friends as they walked into the college hallway together. "I'll steal any old scholar's gown, he'll never try it on anyway."

Reepicheep, in one of his smallest deer-mouse forms, twitched his nose and crawled over Lucy's feet to the other side of the hallway, sensing something amiss.

"What's the matter, Reep?" Lucy asked him, watching as he sniffed the air and turned his head in a very cautious manner.

"Merroow!" Peter's cat, Doe, raced up to Reepicheep, excited for a game of mouse-chasing.

Not wanting to get swatted at with claws and dragged around by the tail, Reepicheep would have none of it. He quickly got right in the cat's face and shifted into a pole-cat not unlike one of Pantalaimon's favorite shapes.

Startled, the cat started crying and mewing piteously, running over to Peter-for of course, as they figured by Doe's presence alone, he was near by-and hiding behind his legs.

"Doe, when are you going to stop acting like you've never seen a person's dæmon before, hmm?" Peter asked, bending down to give the cat a reassuring scratch behind her ears. She purred and rubbed up against his legs.

"Hallo, Scholar Pevensie." Roger greeted Peter in the respectful tone excepted of servants and their children.

"Your mother was asking about you." Peter told him.

"She's probably in the kitchen now, I'd best go on and see her." He said quickly, heading down towards the servants' quarters; to Lucy and Lyra he added, "See you later."

"Bye, Roger!" Lyra hollered after him, never one to use her indoor-voice even when she actually was indoors, unless, per chance, she was spying on someone-then she'd whisper.

"Come on," Peter gently reached out and grabbed Lucy's hand. "the Master said he wants you and Lyra both to sup with the scholars and professors at high-table tonight." Taking in the state of their stained clothes and tangled hair, none of which he himself minded-they were only little children after all-but knew others did, he figured he might as well have them start getting ready as soon as possible. Otherwise, they'd be late and the Master would be disappointed and possibly cross.

"Poo, now I've got to wash up 'til my skin get's raw pink and sit with the adults all night." Lyra hated supping with the Master at high-table. It meant being lady-like for hours on end and having people gasp in horror when you answered a question with the word, 'Dunno'.

Lucy didn't mind so much, she liked getting to have her last meal of the day with her brother and the other scholars instead of having to take it with a maid or a house-keeper as she seemed to have to do more and more frequently these days.

As for Peter, he just wanted it to be over and done with. He had been in something of secret depression ever since he read about Susan Coulter's engagement to Lord Rabadash in the newspaper. Noticing that Lucy was beginning to give him nervous looks all the time, he forced himself to act cheerful in front of her and studious in front of the professors, then he would go to his room at night (he currently had no roommate because the last one had graduated and moved out) and let himself fall apart. Some nights he cried a little to himself, but mostly he just sort of looked vacantly up at the ceiling, letting his mind reel until it made him dizzy and then just hanging on for the ride so to speak. One night he drank some sprits one of the other scholars had left out on a table in the hallway outside his dorm; it was right after he'd had a couple of glasses of wine at supper, too. It made him sick and he woke up with a hangover the next morning so bad that he thought he was dying. A day spent hunched over a spittoon vomiting turned out to be very unproductive, so he never got himself drunk like that again-though he was tempted to every once in a while.

The supper seemed to be going no better or worse than usual. The Master had said something to Lyra about her disinterest in learning being depressing to the college and Lyra had seemed to slurp her soup in a desperately loud manner to get back at him while Pan made faces at some of the professors-no surprise there. Lucy and Reepicheep had behaved like little angels using their table-manners and saying please and thank you-no surprise there, either. Roger hadn't made an appearance, having already been put to bed, but it was his mum who brought out the salad bowl-as Peter could have easily predicted three weeks in advance when two of the butlers usually in charge of such things went to 'their great aunt's funeral' together (they weren't even related and yet still managed to have the same dead aunt).

Then, the doors to the dinning hall opened and there was the sound of a lady's high-heels on the floor. A stunning girl dressed in a black evening-gown, her long, dark hair half-down and half-up in a silver barrette, strolled down the long, narrow walkway to the head-table. At her side was a gray wolf-dæmon.

As soon as he saw her, Peter felt light-headed and his face went as white as sheet. He recognized her the second her familiar, beautiful blue eyes focused in on him, seeming to drink in his every feature, unable to look away. This was the same girl he had known four years ago in Bolvangar. This was the same woman he'd seen in the newspaper standing beside her dark-faced betrothed. This was Susan Coulter.

All the men at the table rose as was customary for greeting an unexpected lady of age who arrives for supper. She barely glanced at them, her eyes still unwaveringly gazing at the one man who hadn't risen for her, the only one she cared about seeing.

A sudden kick to the leg of his chair alerted Peter to the fact that he was supposed to rise in a lady's presence. He stood up stiffly, no longer looking at her. At first he had been shocked, now he was just angry. She was here; the only woman he'd ever loved was here; but now it was too late. Of course, if the paper had gotten the date right, she would be a married woman. He didn't see her husband anywhere, but he resolved to keep a sharp eye out.

"You may be seated, gentlemen." Susan said softly, nodding sadly at the standing scholars, professors, and the Master.

She actually dared to sit in an empty space across from Peter; but he had stopped looking at her, he wouldn't even glance up from his plate. It was only when she happened to shift her gaze over to the door behind her, or down to Maugrim-her eyes filled with ever deepening despair-that he would raise his eyes and take in what he figured was lost long passed the point of regaining.


	32. Gold Rings

"Who's she?" Pantalaimon, a white ermine seated on Lyra's lap, asked his human quietly, glancing over at the beautiful guest who had just arrived for supper. He had never seen such a grand lady before, and he wondered whether or not she was a new female scholar.

"Don't know," Lyra whispered back, for once in her life actually remembering not to say, 'dunno' when there were snooty grown-ups present, but-unfortunately-no one other than her dæmon heard her. "but look at Peter!"

Pan put his paws on the table and peered diagonally across towards the young man with no dæmon; his face lacked colour and he looked like he might be sick. Not sick with disgust, though, just sick.

Susan was already feeling heartbroken in spite of the fact that she had been there only a few moments. How she longed to break through the stuffiness of decorum and manners and polite mealtime exchanges, and just _talk_ to him! To explain everything; to beg for his forgiveness; to hope for something...something more between them.

But how could she talk to him with the Master staring so intently at her? Not that she could blame him. After all, even if no one else knew her for Susan Coulter, daughter of the Lady Marisa Coulter, he did-he knew exactly who she was, and who she wasn't. He was probably wondering which idiot had let her into the building in the first place.

"Scholar Pevensie," The Master said, trying to mask the awkward silence that filled the table. "have you met Lady Susan?"

"No," he lied shortly, giving her such a brief, cutting glance that she half wanted to get up from the table and have a good cry by herself over it. "I don't believe so."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Susan said softly, stretching out her hand to shake his for no other reason than that she just wanted a chance to touch him again, even if it was just in a handshake.

Someone nudged Peter and he begrudgingly gave her his hand, shaking it and dropping it as quickly as humanly possible. She sighed, remembering the first time they'd held hands when he'd helped her down from that tree.

"I think he likes her." Pan whispered to Lyra, looking sympathetic over the fact that his mistress had lost her future husband within three short seconds. Even if Peter was angry with the woman, his initial attraction to her was not completely hidden.

Lyra didn't care; she was too young to get worked up about that sort of thing. "Oh well, he was too old for me anyway. Besides, I've made up my mind that if they wont let me be an explorer, I'll run off and be one without their permission. I didn't really want to marry him _that_ badly."

All too soon, supper was over and there had been no chance-much as Susan had carefully waited for one-to pull Peter aside and talk to him in private. As soon as he could be dismissed he vanished from the room, and it would have been very improper to ask someone where his dorm was, very unlady-like. So she just watched him leave, determined to speak to him the next morning no matter what.

A guest room had been set up for her by the ever-wary Master who wondered what the young Coulter woman was up to. She couldn't have been working for her mother; rumor had it that she'd run away and Lord Rabadash was looking everywhere for her. But why would she run here to Jordan College of all places? It was one of the most likely places of all for someone to recognize her and alert her family to where she was. Figuring the Gyptians might have seen her come in, he sent word through some of his most trusted servants to inquire of what her business at Jordan might be. And what a surprising story he got!

Ma Costa and Farder Coram explained that an unexpected-and very distant-relative of Telmarine ethnicity had come to them in an air-craft with a bear and a cowboy in tow, along with one other passenger; the lovely Susan Coulter who now called herself Susan Pevensie. The Telmarine fellow was seeking safety from a closer related family member who wanted to kill him, and Susan wanted to know of where she might find a boy who had no dæmon. At first they hadn't wanted to tell her anything, thinking her to possibly be a spy of her mother's, but then, Ma Costa looked into the young lady's eyes and said to the rest of them, "Not like her mother."

Farder Coram took Susan aside after that and told her all that he knew about Peter and how to reach him at Jordan. He also told Susan something she didn't know and was quite upset to learn. That her mother had-all along-known exactly where Peter was and never said a word about it.

"She would not dare come here to fetch him, not after he had been placed under the protection of Lord Asriel and the Master of the College, but she knows where he is." he told her grimly.

"And I thought he was lost to all of us." Susan had marveled, not without a bit of anger in her tone.

"Come," said Ma Costa, stepping between Farder Coram and Susan, grabbing the lady's wrist. "if you are truly in earnest about meeting that young man again, we will have to get you ready."

And that was how it had all happened. That was how Susan had arrived at the college just in time for supper, hoping to speak with her lost lover, the day ending with her hopes smashed to bits, needing to be reassembled and glued together in time for the next day.

Late the next morning, Peter took one of his regular in-between classes strolls, walking in an uncomprehending, almost zombie-like manner, not really reading the book he was carrying-it had been on the same middle-page for five minutes without being turned.

Coming down the open-air garden path, heading straight towards him with her dæmon, Maugrim, was Susan. She was dressed, not in finery, but in what appeared to be an extra scholar's uniform and plain brown, lace-up shoes. Her hair hung loosely around her frame, a good three or four inches longer than it had been four years ago, and the wind lifted half of it over one shoulder.

Nodding in acknowledgement of a lady's presence, Peter turned to leave-he didn't want to talk to her, not after all that had happened.

"Peter, wait!" she called after him, not about to let him go as easily as she had the night before. There were only a few other students around and none of them were really paying any attention to her at the moment, so there was no need put on a calm pretence.

Much as he willed his feet to keep moving, he found himself standing still as a statue until she reached him. Then he turned around and faced her, "Yes?"

"Um, how have you been?" she blurted out, shaken by the ice in his eyes.

"Fine." he answered monosyllabically.

"Good, good." she forced a smile and prattled on awkwardly. Here was her chance to tell him everything, this was what she had waited for so long, and yet, she was terrified. What if he didn't love her anymore? He was clearly angry, maybe she should just leave the poor man alone and stop bothering him. For all she knew, he might even have another girlfriend on campus. Then again, the Gyptians knew everything and they hadn't mentioned one, so he probably didn't, but still...

"Hello again." Maugrim said gruffly, having no dæmon to greet.

"Yes, hello there." Peter said curtly, preparing to turn around and walk away.

Susan reached out and grabbed his arm. "I need to talk to you."

"I think you've said all that needed to be said a long time ago." Peter told her, shaking his head, wondering what on earth he was still doing talking to this girl-clearly he had nothing to say to her.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," she whispered, the words flying out of her mouth like caged birds that had suddenly been set free. "I was just scared and stupid and young..."

He looked at her a little more kindly now and she fancied some of the ice in his stare had melted. "It was a long time ago, Susan." he smiled weakly. "We'll let bygones be bygones."

"Alright." said Susan, slowly removing her hand from his arm now. "It's really good to see you again," she added lamely.

"Yeah, it's er...great..." Peter said with fake enthusiasm.

Blinking back a row of sharp, hot tears, Susan leaned forward and kissed his lips.

He was stunned, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world, so without thinking, he started to kiss her back until he remembered something: this was a married woman! Remembering what Lord Asriel had done with Marisa, he resolved not to make the same mistake as Lucy's idiot father. Married women belonged to their husbands, kissing them wasn't right. Lord Rabadash might be a vain, self-centered man rumored to have killed his servants over the smallest of details, but he was still Susan's husband, that alone meant respecting him. Quickly, before he could be tempted not to, Peter pulled away from her.

"I'm sorry..." Susan stammered, wondering how many times she was going to have to say those to words to him.

"You should be with your husband." Peter said in a gentle voice almost completely free of resentment. "Where is he?"

"Husband?" Maugrim gasped in fake-shock, looking over at his mistress. "How could you get married without telling me?"

"I'm not married!" Susan exclaimed, looking from Maugrim to Peter. "Why did you think I was married?"

"Well, I didn't," said Maugrim somewhat tersely. "I would have seen it happen, I suppose."

"Not you, Maugrim!"

"Aren't you Lord Rabadash's wife?" Peter's brow crinkled and he felt strangely distant from the situation, like this was something happening to him in a dream.

"No, of course not!" Susan was indignant; her face twisted into a look of utter disgust.

"So you aren't married?" Peter double checked.

"He's not a very _bright_ boy, is he?" Maugrim whispered up at his human.

"No," said Susan, shaking her head and taking a step closer to him. "I'm not."

"You don't love him?"

"God, no!"

"Oh," Peter felt several of his facial muscles that had been tensed up for four years suddenly relax. "I see."

"I left him," Susan explained, feeling strangely happy-almost too happy to keep speaking-though she wasn't sure why. "and I changed my last name."

"She stole your surname." Maugrim put in.

"Shut up, Maugrim!" Susan's face flushed scarlet as the little smile on Peter's face started to grow.

"Why did you take my name?" Peter asked, arching a brow at her.

"Because she loves you." Maugrim blurted out.

"No fair!" Susan grumped, folding her arms across her chest. "Don't I get to tell him _anything_ myself?"

"You're too coy and you take way too long." said the wolf, tossing his proud, gray head back almost as if he was about to howl.

"But the last time I saw you...you said..." Peter started stammering and laughing at the same time, tears of joy springing up into his eyes.

"I had to...I was frightened and I didn't have a choice..." Susan told him everything right then and there; about how her mother's dæmon had attacked Maugrim and how if she hadn't agreed to leave him, the pain would have gotten worse.

Reaching out, he stroked one side of her face tenderly with the back of his fingers. "Susan, if you had only told me about this then..."

"What could we have done?" she said practically, not really seeing how that would have made a difference.

"I would have taken you with me and Lucy and Jill in that sleigh...I wouldn't have left you there if I'd known."

"You wouldn't have?" For some reason this surprised her.

Peter unfolded her arms and took her hands in his. "Of course not! If I'd known, even for a moment, that you were frightened and that you really did care for me, I would have taken you away from there without a moment's hesitation-don't you know that?"

"I should have," whispered Susan, feeling safer and safer as his grip on her hands tightened, wishing that he could stay right there in front of her like that for ever, never leaving, never letting go. "but I didn't."

"I should have tried to find out what you were really going through." Peter decided, thinking that perhaps half of the blame was his after all. "I shouldn't have just assumed that the life you had was the one you wanted all along."

"But I never gave you any reason to think differently." Susan pointed out.

"I should have had more faith in you." Peter insisted, not willing to back down in the matter.

"Well, the truth is simply this:" Susan announced boldly before her dæmon could get a word in edge-wise. "I love you, and I'm sorry for everything I put you through."

At that, he got down on one knee and, looking up at her, he said, "Susan Cou-I mean, Pev-I mean, whatever your name is, will you marry me?"

This was far more than she had hoped for, and she couldn't help breaking out into sobs right in front of him, knowing that she was blubbing like an infant but unable to make herself stop. When she could finally speak again, all that came out was a small, almost inaudible, "Yes."

Grinning, he stood up and kissed both her hands. "Can you meet me here tonight?"

Susan nodded eagerly and threw herself into his arms, letting him hold her for a few moments. She knew a few people were watching them now, but she didn't care. It hadn't all been for nothing; she had gotten to tell him the truth-and now, she was going to be married to him. People could say whatever they wanted, people could think whatever they wanted, but for once in her life, she didn't care about appearances-she only cared about the future she was going to have, the one she had wanted all along and had almost lost for ever.

Suddenly, they were startled by an applause. Everyone who'd been watching them, and the few who'd been close enough to hear what they were saying, were cheering and clapping. Someone with a very big mouth even shouted, "Hooray!"

Less than an hour later, Peter approached one of the butlers and asked if he could buy something for him from the main part of the city and get it back to him before nightfall.

"Are you sure?" asked the butler with a bewildered look on his face when Scholar Pevensie explained what he wanted. His dæmon, a spotted beagle, barked and tilted his head in confusion.

"Yes." Peter nodded quickly and dismissively. "Look, if it's about the money, trust me, I can pay you back."

"It's just sort of..." the butler tried to choose his words wisely. "... _sudden_...isn't it?"

"Well, that really couldn't be helped, just do as you're told, all right?"

"Yes, of course, but...um, if you don't mind my asking, who is the unlucky lady?"

"Very funny, Walter." Peter chuckled, patting him on the back. "Just do it."

"Yes, Scholar Pevensie, right away." he amended.

That night, Susan picked out a dress she had borrowed from one of the Gyptian women. She thought she looked rather silly in its dark purple and oddly-shaped sleeves, but really, it fit her quite well and even Maugrim couldn't come up with something to pick on about it. She stole out of the room quietly, shutting the door behind her with a slight creak, and fast-walked down the hallway out to where she was supposed to meet Peter, Maugrim panting at her heels.

Outside, the night air and pearly-silver white moonlight made the slightly damp green-gray grass look like something out of a fairy-tale. The path seemed to glow as if welcoming her into a new life, urging her to get on with it. Susan marveled at how many stars seemed unblocked by the city's smog that night, twinkling above her like diamond-spies, witnesses to whatever was going to happen on this magical night. She shivered, not with cold, but with excitement. Standing just a little ways off, was Peter-he seemed to be holding some small object concealed in his right hand.

"Hello," she said breathlessly when they were in ear-shot of each other.

"Hi," he smiled at her and opened his hand to show her two gold wedding-bands.

Susan put her hand to her heart. Although they were real gold, they were small, thin, simple-looking patternless things-the only quality he could afford. In her eyes, however, they were reflected as objects a thousand times more valuable than a collection of crown jewels.

Right there, alone together, they said their vows and promised to look after one another for the rest of their lives until death should part them (and, even that, neither of them were sure was a good enough reason for their bond to end). Peter slipped Susan's ring on her finger, and she took the ring meant for him and carefully slid it onto his left hand. Maugrim howled at the moon in acknowledgement of what was happening, as if pronouncing the little private ceremony just about over as the two lovers kissed and clasped hands. And after that, the two of them considered themselves husband and wife, no matter what anyone else had to say about it.

Susan didn't go back to her guest-room; rather, she sat by the warm cracking fire in Peter's dorm, in her nightclothes, watching the dancing orange flames reflecting off of the gold on her left ring-finger. Maugrim yawned sleepily, watching as his mistress stood up and walked over to the table where Peter had spread out some of his work-books.

"Is this what you're studying now?" Susan asked Peter who was washing his face in the basin on the other side of the room.

"Yeah." Peter muttered as he wiped his face clean with a towel and turned around to see his bride sitting down at the table puzzling over the text.

"This isn't so hard." Susan lied, wanting to seem a little smarter than she actually was. "I could do these."

Peter walked over to where she was sitting, rattling off what she thought the answers to the questions and sums in the work-book were, and started kissing her neck.

"And the answer to that is..." she leaned closer to him. "...okay, how am I supposed to concentrate with you doing that?"

"Why don't you call it a night?" Peter suggested, gently lifting her off the chair and carrying her over to the bed.

"Alright," said Susan as he pulled himself beside her.

"I'm sorry I don't have more to offer you, you know that, right?" he whispered, watching as she sighed, moving his bangs away from his forehead.

"I don't want anything more," Susan whispered, pulling herself on top of him. "I could have had it if I wanted it, remember?"

"Were you really going to marry someone else?" he sighed mournfully.

"Uh-huh," Susan admitted, hating herself for not taking her life into her own hands sooner. She rolled over and pulled him on top of her. "are you going to do something about it?"

He started kissing her lips and wrapping his arms all the way around her. "How's that?"

"I don't think I've learned my lesson yet..." Susan murmured.

Maugrim cleared his throat uncomfortably.

Turning away from her husband over to her dæmon for a moment, Susan said, "Uh, Maugrim?"

"Yes?"

"You may want to turn and face the wall until we're done."

The wolf's face twisted slightly and he took a step back. "You're going to..."

Susan nodded. "I'd say there's a good chance."

"Oh." With that, the wolf looked away, doing as she told him to.

Later, when Maugrim was told he could look again and both of them had put their night-clothes back on, he climbed onto the bed and slept at their feet.

When the sun pierced through the curtains the next morning (they slept in late, being a little worn-out), Susan could feel her husband's arms around her and a strange tingling sensation on her left hand.

"Good morning," Peter murmured as he woke up, thinking that might be a bit of an understatement.

"Morning," Susan said, opening her eyes.

Peter winced slightly. "My hand feels...strange..."

"Yours, too?" Susan tried to take hers away, but found that she couldn't.

"Hang it all...what's going..." Peter looked down at their hands and saw the answer.

They weren't sure why it had happened, or even _how_ it had happened, but there it was; their wedding rings had fused together and they couldn't separate their hands.


	33. There's Safety in Fusing

"Goodness!" Laughed the College Physician's apprentice, clicking his tongue in a remarkably annoying manner as he stood bent over the two hands held together by fused gold. "How the devil did you manage that?"

"I don't know." Peter said through clenched teeth, already frustrated that the actual physician, a much older, more respected-not to mention, educated-man, had yet to show.

"Have you tried taking off the rings?" the apprentice asked after a long pause and a deeply-drawn breath. His dæmon, a little shaggy-looking mutt of a sheepdog with reddish-coloured fur, let out a low bay followed by a yawn.

Of course they had! That had been their first instinct, to simply take them off and figure out what it was that fused them later, there was-for Peter-a lot to get done. He had his morning classes, a few of which he'd already missed, and he didn't think he could afford to miss anymore of them. However, as their fingers seemed to have swollen right into the rings so that trying to remove them felt like tearing off flesh, it seemed unavoidable. They couldn't do anything with their rings like that; they couldn't even change out of their nightclothes into something decent.

As Susan calmly explained this to the apprentice for what must have been the sixth time at least, he nodded vacantly, a slightly-amused, half-bored, childlike expression written all over his face. The other chap in the room, a thirteen year old boy with red hair so bright it was almost orange in hue and a million freckles all over his face, and a gray, stout-looking miniature pony for a dæmon, tilted his head in an idiotic fashion and smiled broadly. Neither Susan nor Peter had wanted the boy there, but apparently he was the apprentice's assistant for the day-probably a cousin of his or something-and he had come in anyway.

All the assistant had done so far was turn red at random moments and bashfully gushed, "You're pretty," when he saw Susan.

Maugrim snarled and snapped his teeth at the boy and the apprentice in as threatening a manner as he dared, hoping to motivate them to some helpful action so that his mistress could get on with her day. Not to mention escape the horrible embarrassment she was feeling; being her dæmon, he could sense it and feel uncomfortable, too.

"So, Ronnie, what do you think?" the apprentice asked the boy just before Susan had finished speaking.

"Shh..." he waved his hand dismissively, a distant, dreamy gaze on his face. "...Susan's talking." His dæmon snorted and let out a faint nay of agreement.

"Does he _have_ to be here?" Peter growled, attempting to shove Doe, who had been asleep on a chair up until this point but had now awakened and was trying to crawl onto his lap, away with his free hand.

Offended, Doe let out a forced-sounding mew, and turned up her nose and tail at the same time, prancing over to the other side of the room like a queen in exile.

"Ronnie, get me some ice and butter, we're going to slide these rings right off." announced the apprentice, ignoring Peter's question altogether.

Susan rolled her eyes and moaned, this had to be the most embarrassing moment of her life, sitting there in the middle of the room in her bedclothes with an ignorant wish-he-were physician puzzling over their hands.

Just then, the door opened and they all eagerly turned their eyes towards it, hoping feverishly that it was the real physician, hopefully with some sort of plan to help them. It wasn't. It was only a wrinkled-faced house-keeper with a couple of younger maids of about twenty or so in tow carrying large laundry baskets.

"What's going on in here?" asked the house-keeper. The younger maids started giggling and whispering between themselves.

Susan wanted to die right then and there; obviously, the house-keeper was aware that this was Peter's dorm and was wondering what on earth she was doing in there with him along with the apprentice physician.

"We've got something of a problem." Peter lifted his hand with the ring, accidentally tugging Susan's wrist too roughly.

"Ouch!" she gasped, pulling their hands back down.

"Sorry," he whispered in her ear.

"Well, we'll just take the bed-sheets and any other laundry you happen to have and be on our way, then."

Susan's face went from white as snow to red as blood in less than four seconds-she didn't want them to see the sheets. "Do you have to?"

"Of course we have to," said one of the younger maids. "it's laundry day."

Just then, the door swung open and a little blue butterfly dæmon-Lyra's Pantalaimon-flew in, followed by Lyra, who having either skipped whatever morning lessons she was supposed to have for the day or else having been forgotten by the professors and scholars for some reason or other, had been wandering the hallways looking for something to amuse herself with. Of course, as soon as she heard all the conversation coming from that dorm, and was certain that there wasn't anyone likely to punish her for intruding present, she had come right on in to see what was happening.

"You know, I'd bet this was a _private_ room once upon a time." Maugrim grunted sarcastically as his human's discomfort increased.

"Lyra," Peter said softly, trying to keep his voice level. "what are you doing in here?"

She shifted from one foot to the other and glanced over at Pan who fluttered fearfully, thinking they were in trouble. "I was looking for Lucy." she lied quickly.

"She's not here." Susan said tersely, wincing as Ronnie dropped an ice-cube on her hand by accident, missing her ring-finger by a good inch and a half.

"What happened to your fingers?" Lyra's eyes widened when she wandered a little closer to them and saw the interlocked rings.

"Lyra, let's go, we shouldn't be here." Pantalaimon whispered, flying next to her right ear. "Their fingers aren't any of our business."

"Hush, Pan." she'd said those words so many times to her dæmon that they had almost lost all meaning by then.

"Peter?" Lucy arrived carrying Reepicheep in his golden-brown cat form in the crook of her right arm, nudging the slightly ajar door open with her left.

"Told you I was looking for Lucy." Lyra put in for good measure although nearly everyone present-except for maybe Ronnie-saw right through it.

Peter moaned and forced a parody of his usual warm brotherly smile in his little sister's general direction. "Morning, Lu."

"We were worried about you." said Reepicheep as Lucy set him down on the floor.

"Are you alright?" Lucy asked before she came close enough to notice the rings.

"As well as can be expected...Ow!" the apprentice had just attempted to pull the rings off again, only causing their fingers to swell even more, thus making the pain worse.

Lucy came closer and examined the fused gold. "Maybe they shrunk somehow?"

"No, that wouldn't explain why they fused together in the first place." Peter pointed out, tugging his hand away from Ronnie who was coming near the rings with a red-hot poker from the fireplace. "Put that thing down, you are not touching our fingers with _that_!"

"Peter, stop pulling so hard, it hurts!" Susan gasped in a choking sort of tone. Maugrim, feeling as though his own left paw was bound in a chain, whimpered loudly and shook it wildly back and forth as if trying to rid himself of a numb limb.

The maids and the house-keeper had removed the comforter from the bed and were folding it up so it would fit better in one of their baskets. Then one of them reached for the sheets and Susan felt her face grow hot again. The stain she suspected would be there was clear as day and even darker than she had imagined it might be. The younger maids giggled under their breath and glanced from time to time over at Susan, understanding why she was blushing so hard now. The house-keeper did give them both a stern look, but she also made haste to get the sheets tucked away before anyone else could see them.

But nothing missed Lyra's eyes and she instantly gasped, "What's that? It looks like dried blood. Was somebody murdered in here last night?"

"I wish," muttered Maugrim under his breath.

Lucy, completely innocent and unaware of what it meant, whipped her head around to see for herself, but it was a fruitless attempt because Peter instantly sat up-pulling Susan up with him-and put his hand over his little sister's eyes.

"Just get that out of here." Peter mouthed at the maids, glaring unwaveringly at the house-keeper until she gathered everything up and left. Then he uncovered Lucy's eyes. Reepicheep shifted into a deer mouse and crawled up her arm, resting on her shoulder.

Pantalaimon, still a butterfly, fluttered closer to the now-bare bed. There was nothing to see, but he looked about briefly and nervously anyway as if expecting to find a dead body or a chopped-off head hidden there. Lyra followed and moved the headboard to look behind it. Finding nothing, she was a mite disappointed-this was a little less exciting that she had thought it would be.

Of course everyone _would_ have to be in the room the morning after our wedding night! Susan thought incredulously, wondering if she would ever live this down.

"Alright," the apprentice sighed grimly, shaking his head and clicking his tongue again. "there's nothing else for it," he reached down into a large medical bag he happened to have with him in the room and pulled out a small saw. "One of you is going to have to lose a finger."

Susan let out a cry of dismay; Maugrim growled ferociously.

"I want a second opinion!" cried Peter, pulling his hand and Susan's into the inside of his nightshirt protectively.

"Can I see the finger when it's removed?" Lyra asked, her face brightening, the day suddenly becoming far more thrilling for her.

"It's not like I wouldn't cut off the right one as well, for a sense of symmetry." the apprentice protested as if that were the only issue to be concerned over.

"You are _not_ cutting off our fingers." Susan hissed, her brows coming together angrily, a fed-up look raging in her darkened blue eyes like a storm. "Put that thing away now!"

"Well what do you expect me to do?" huffed the apprentice. "I can't get the bloody blasted things off."

"Couldn't you hire a welder to separate them?" Reepicheep suggested sort of quietly, leaning forward on Lucy's shoulder.

"Yes!" Peter exclaimed, his eyes wide with fear as he glanced down at the saw-which hadn't been put away yet. "Send for a welder and put the saw back in your bag."

A couple of minutes later, Susan's forehead crinkled. She distinctively felt Peter's hand under the nightshirt pulling away from hers; but as the rings were fused together, this would have been impossible. Barely daring to believe it, she wiggled her finger and slowly pulled her hand out. The ring was still on it though it was no longer attached to Peter's ring; there was a small mark on the side that had been fused, but it wasn't as vivid or melted as it ought to have been. It was more like a darkened dent than anything else. Also, her finger had gone back down to its normal size, no longer trapped in the ring-she could slide it on and off as much as she pleased. Peter's ring and finger were exactly the same.

The apprentice and Ronnie exchanged confused looks. Lyra looked somewhere between impressed as if it were a magic-show she had gotten free admission to and a little saddened that the morning's fun was over already. Pantalaimon became a firefly and buzzed around in a discomfited manner.

"But how..." Susan began just as the door opened for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

The Master, his face grave, his beard seeming just a little whiter than usual, and one thick vein in his forehead pulsing with violent intensity, entered the room, his dæmon just behind him. When he saw everyone sitting there, Peter amongst them, looking unharmed, his face seemed to relax.

"Thank heavens you're up here!" he exclaimed, blinking to clear his watery eyes and regain composure.

"What happened?" Lucy asked worriedly, taking in the Master's somewhat disheveled appearance. She rather liked the Master whenever he was in good temper (he reminded her quite a bit of Lord Digory, actually) and was nervous about his current demeanor.

"Let's just say it was a good thing Peter missed all of his classes this morning." said the Master, surprisingly not looking at all cross over the fact that both Peter and Susan were still in their night-clothes and in the same dorm. In fact, he looked almost _glad_ of it!

Peter's face clouded. "What do you mean?"

"Susan," the Master turned to her now. "your mother evidently grew tired of the Lord Rabadash getting his blood boiled over your disappearance and burning down Gyptian ships, and finally told him about Peter."

"What?" Susan took a step closer to her husband as if to remind herself that she was free from her horrid ex-betrothed now, forever. Maugrim's fur stood up and he walked carefully over to his mistress, standing in front of her with nearly all of his sharpest teeth showing.

The Master looked down briefly and cracked a single knuckle on his left hand. "The man was obviously upset and he came down here..." he pulled out a sharp, curved object too large to be a knife yet too small to be a proper sword. "...with this."

Susan suddenly felt light-headed and probably would have fainted if Peter hadn't grabbed onto the side of her arm and held her upright in a firm, yet gentle manner.

As it turned out, Lord Rabadash had been waiting for Peter to come downstairs to his classes with the clear intention of slitting his throat the second he came into view and seemed even remotely unprotected. The Master never could figure out how the horrid nobleman had gotten onto the campus in the first place, much less managed to hide there waiting for Scholar Pevensie for quite a few hours before someone finally caught him and had him thrown out.

"Because you're rarely ever late, and never seem to miss your classes-even when your schedule changes," the Master went on. "I was clearly distressed when I heard of this plot against you-I thought for sure he had succeeded, if not in killing you, than certainly in harming you in some way and perhaps even found poor Lady Susan-her guest room was ransacked earlier this morning long before even the first classes started, no guesses who was responsible for that."

Peter blinked in amazement. "If I hadn't been in here all morning...I might have been..."

Susan started crying, bordering on hysterics while her husband patted her arm reassuringly as if to remind her that nothing had actually happened-that he was perfectly safe and well.

"My question is, however," the Master mused, trying to sort out all of the morning's events. "what is it that kept you up here until that horrible man was no longer present?"

"Their rings were fused together." said Lucy, shaking a little, sobered up a great deal by the story the Master had just told them, holding onto Reepicheep who was now in the form of a terrier.

"But rings don't just fuse together." said the Master, confused.

"Theirs did!" Lyra interjected, tingling with delight over the adventure-story unfolding right before her.

"What sort of rings were these?" he asked Peter.

"Just the ordinary sort," was the answer. "just simple golden bands."

"Strange," the Master examined both of the wedding rings gleaming on the couple's fingers, but found no sign of anything particularly extraordinary about them. Just as Peter had told him, they were mere regular gold bands, nothing at all magical or wondrous.

It was then decided that, no matter what had caused the strange occurrence, it was a good thing it had happened, and that now that it was all over, everyone ought to leave the room and give the couple some breathing space or at least some time to get dressed and ready for the noon meal. So everyone started to leave. Lyra left first, urged on by Pantalaimon's sharp whisper that the Master still had time to punish them for being in that room unbidden in the first place if they didn't make themselves scarce immediately to escape notice. Lucy was the last to leave; still holding Reepicheep in his terrier form, she happened to notice something strange when she looked down at the place where Peter and Susan had been sitting when the rings had miraculously lost their bondage to each other. There, in a small heap, was what-at first glance-seemed not unlike sand except for the fact that it was far more gold than grainy yellow-brown. But this 'sand' was somehow thinner, almost like fairydust, and as it gently rose off the ground, it glittered and shone brightly. Peter and Susan did not seem to notice this, or else they simply could not see it as clearly as Lucy did. To them, it seemed just like regular dust caught in the air, shimmering only because of the way the sunlight pouring in from the window touched it.

Somehow, standing there as long as she dared to before going away with the others, Lucy realized she really and truly was seeing something that the others couldn't. What it was, exactly, she didn't know. But two things she did. One, that for some unexplainable reason she found herself thinking again of the Lion in the book about alethiometers. And two, that the word 'Dust' found its way into her mind and kept repeating itself like a rich blowing horn or a drum-roll as she watched the glowing particles. Dust, she thought rather uncomprehendingly, Dust, Dust, Dust.


	34. A poisoned meeting

"Lyra, don't!" Pantalaimon pleaded with his human to no avail. "We aren't supposed to be here!"

"Stop being such a coward." Lyra rolled her eyes, looking behind her to make sure Lucy and Reepicheep were standing guard at the back of the dinning hall, making sure no one was coming.

Shifting from a pole-cat to a dark brown moth, Pan buzzed in her ear, hissing, "If I weren't such a coward, where would _you_ be?"

Lyra laughed, "In the retiring room already."

"I don't see why we've got to do this," Pantalaimon muttered, shifting into an ermine and following her along the rows and mazes of tables they were zooming through.

"Don't you? We promised Billy Costa we'd bring him the poisoned gown yesterday, and we forgot all about it, remember? If we wait much longer, we wont have time to bring it to him before sunset today and we lose the bet and start a new war, see?"

Climbing onto one of the tables so that even in his small, long form he could be closer to his mistress and better attempt to make her listen to him, Pantalaimon whispered, "But there aint any poisoned gown! You know it!"

"Course there aint!" Lyra snorted, tossing a lock of unruly brown curls over one shoulder. "You know it's not the point!"

"We're going to be punished," protested Pantalaimon sheepishly.

"Only if we get caught." said Lyra as she came to a stop at the great, darkly-polished double-doors to the retiring room, turning around half-way to wave her hand at Lucy, signaling that it was all right for her to stop standing guard now.

Taking in a deep breath, not out of fear, but of excitement-she had never been in the retiring room before, children weren't allowed in there, and only the most high-ranking servants were allowed to wait on the professors and scholars whenever they were in that room-Lyra spread her arms open wide and flung the doors open, strolling in both as if she owned the place and was awestruck by it at the same time.

The ceilings were high and painted, not with cherubs, but with something out of a winter scene from a northern fairy-tale. Fair whites and ice blues blended around glassy-coloured reindeers and shady-looking fir-trees as green as the sea on the first night of January twinkled down at her. The pillars on the far-side of the room were made of cherry-wood and black marble, two or three of them covered by deep crimson tapestries with no patterns except for a wavy line of golden thread sewn into their edges.

There was a table in the middle of the room set with gold plates and forks inlaid with diamonds. In the centre, rather than a serving dish, was a brass spy-glass for examining small slides and a large ebony-framed microscope standing diagonally in its copper-holder.

"Come on," Pan said, shifting into a brown-and-tan hare on the table, his lengthy rabbit-like ears standing straight up. "let's find a scholars' gown and get out of here!"

"Don't be silly," sighed Lyra, gazing about all the roughly elegant luxurious surroundings. "I want to take a look around." She turned to the left of the spy-glass and the microscope where there stood a small decorative row of dangling bell-like crystal drops, each as long and thin as her index finger. Giggling to herself, she gingerly lifted one of them up with her middle finger, then released it-letting it clink against the others making a merry little sound.

"Lyra!" Pan scolded her. "You're not taking this seriously!"

She ignored him, giving his comment no reply, but she did put her hands over the ringing crystals so that they stopped banging into one another.

Shaking his head in dismay, Pantalaimon whispered, "You know that if you get a smack... _I_ hurt, too."

Lyra shrugged her shoulders indifferently, peering down to look through the microscope. It was as clear as the coy-pond the Master never let her near-at least not knowingly-and it was very powerful, too, making the lines that had seemed smooth and all but invisible a few moments before, sharp dents in the table. Shrinking just a little, Pan hopped under the lens and scowled up at her.

"Hee hee," Lyra put her hand to her mouth. "You look funny, Pan!"

"I do not!" He insisted, his little rabbit-lips in their fullest pout not looking terribly convincing of this statement.

Giggling again, Lyra stuck out her tongue down through the lens at her dæmon.

Pantalaimon couldn't help himself; he laughed with her now, twitching his nose back and forth, scooting up a bit so his breath fogged up the lens.

The sound of the doors creaking open echoed in their ears, and Pantalaimon cried out, "Oh no! I told you! Someone's a-coming in here early and they'll beat us both for intruding like this!"

A mouse with a golden band and a red feather around one ear trotted in, his little sword at his hip. His human came in after him, a little dagger around her own hip.

They breathed a sigh of relief; it wasn't a grown-up after all, it was only Lucy and Reepicheep.

"Lyra!" Lucy exclaimed, running over to her friend, panting breathlessly at the table when she reached it. "Lord Asriel is here-they're going to use this room to talk with him, the professors and the Master!"

"I told her we shouldn't have come here." Pantalaimon whispered to Reepicheep.

"We've got to get out before _They_ come in." Lucy whisper-hissed urgently, looking at the doors out of the corner of her left eye.

Muffled voices from just outside the doors and the squeak of leather shoes so well-polished that they cracked and creaked like rubber against the wood of the threshold reached their ears and they exchanged panicked looks. Someone was coming! It was too late for them to leave the retiring room without being seen.

"Quick, this way," Lyra made a dash for the pear-wood wardrobe on the far side of the room, Pantalaimon, Reepicheep, and Lucy following close behind her.

It was one of those wide-and-long wardrobes with little tinted window-glass along its frame that could open just as its two silver-handled doors could. Hanging up inside of it were at least half-a-dozen black scholars' gowns that looked rather like judges' robes, but neither girl nor their dæmons gave any thought to their bet with Billy Costa now, they were too busy trying to make their frightened breathing softer so as not to be detected as they all huddled in there together. Reepicheep and Pantalaimon both became pale-coloured moths so as to make more room for their humans and not to show up as clearly amongst the dark wood and ebony garments.

The men who's feet and voices they'd heard coming from the hallway were in the retiring room now; Lucy and Lyra could actually see them quite clearly through the tinted glass. One of them was only the Master, looking stern and stiff, as he always did when addressing someone he wasn't completely comfortable with. The other man, they didn't recognize. He was rather young; he couldn't possibly be any older than perhaps thirty-one, his face unmarred by even the smallest of wrinkles, but his eyes had an unfriendliness to them that made him seem aged, and he had the sort of mouth that always turns downwards and never seems pleased with anything. Because he wore a tunic of black velvet with the ruling power's crude red-and-white gold crest sewn onto its right sleeve, along with an enormous silver cross dangling from a thick chain around his neck, they could tell he was a priest or something of the sort. His dæmon was an ice-blue beetle with translucent wings fluttering about out of anxiety-or anger.

"Lord Asriel is a very important nobleman of the College." the Master was saying in the exasperated, no-nonsense voice the girls-especially Lyra-knew so well. "What exactly do you expect me to do?'

"As Master of Jordan," the priest said in a voice as hard as ice and as slippery as cooking oil. "I would expect you to force him to abandon his plans."

Inside the wardrobe, Lyra leaned closer to Lucy and whispered, "They're talking about my Uncle Asriel!"

Lucy bit her lip and glanced over at Reepicheep who landed on her shoulder, beating his thin little wings in a very, 'I'm right here,' sort of way.

"Why would I?" The Master demanded crossly.

"I speak for the Ruling Powers," his tone was threatening, but it didn't seem to faze the Master in the least.

"The Ruling Powers have no authority within these walls."

Laughing, "My dear fellow, they have authority _everywhere_."

The Master glowered at him and his raven-dæmon let out a caw of displeasure.

"Lord Asriel _will_ be silenced." the priest continued smugly. "One way or another."

"That may be," said the Master, nodding curtly in begrudging agreement. "but while he is at Jordan his proposal shall be heard as loudly and clearly as he wants-are we not dispensed with centuries of open thinking and free inquiry? Eh?"

The priest's eyes flashed angrily, and he opened his mouth to protest, but the Master quickly added, "And that's my final word on the matter!"

"Where are you going?" the priest demanded, watching as the Master moved steadily away from him towards the other side of the room.

"To call the counsel to order." he replied brusquely, swinging open the door of the wardrobe and snatching a scholar's gown off of one of the hangers.

His hand almost snagged a lock of Lyra's wild, unbrushed hair, but she bit back a gasp and moved deeper into the wardrobe before he got a firm grip. Then, not having noticed the girls, still focused on snubbing the know-it-all priest, he swung the gown over his shoulders and stormed out of the room.

"Alright, as soon as the other man leaves, we can sneak out of here before the rest of them arrive for their meeting." Pan announced, ignoring the disappointed look on his human's face.

Even in the dark, Lucy could sense the sour expression and couldn't help wondering if Lyra wasn't actually enjoying this-getting to hear what the men were talking about, though she didn't understand any of it. Although Lucy was somewhat interested herself, she didn't consider it worth getting in trouble over-the professors were _always_ having their little meetings. And while it was true that it wasn't often that Lord Asriel was present, what difference did his coming really make?

"Oh no!" cried Pan, his wings flapping at a greater speed, stricken with horror.

"What is it?" Reep asked him.

"Look, the man's not leaving, he's sitting down!"

Lyra pressed her eye against the tinted glass and watched as the priest pulled up a chair and sighed heavily. He seemed to be looking about anxiously for something, and, not finding it, became frustrated. A few seconds later, the doors opened again and a butler walked in carrying a crystal carafe of wine.

"What have you got there?" asked the priest as the startled butler placed the carafe down on the table along with a small stack of linen napkins.

"Wine, your grace," he answered promptly and politely. "it's Lord Asriel's favorite-imported to this part of the lesser peninsula just for him, actually."

"Yes, I see," said the priest, looking a bit more at ease now. "You may go, we don't want servants here until we're all finished talking unless one of you was specifically sent for, understand?"

The butler nodded. "Yes, your grace."

"Good, get out." his brows came together, not separating themselves until he heard the bang of the doors closing behind the butler.

"Is he _ever_ going to leave?" Pantalaimon whispered, one wing hitting the tinted window lightly. "It's getting harder to breathe in here."

"No it aint," Lyra snapped, grabbing onto Lucy's wrist and pulling her friend closer to the window so she could see whatever it was the priest was about to do, too.

Thinking himself quite alone, the priest rolled up one of his tunic sleeves and pulled out a folded up piece of thick card-paper which contained some sort of white powder.

"This will shut the blasted man up." he said softly to his dæmon. If he had been the sort of person who laughed, he might have chuckled to himself, but his throat had no humour-good or bad-so he didn't.

"What does he think he is doing?" Lucy whispered, blinking as the man took the shimmering stopper off of the carafe of wine and placed it down on the table.

"Dunno," said Lyra, her eyes widening.

"I wish he'd just hurry up and leave!" Pan said again.

The priest slowly lifted the card-paper over the open mouth of the carafe and poured the powder right into the wine. Then, he replaced the stopper, stood up, pushed in his chair, and walked away. He was silent as he left the room, but there was a faint hum, rather like a gleeful whistling coming from the beetle-dæmon on his shoulder.

"Good, he's gone!" Pan gasped happily, waiting for Lyra to open the wardrobe door so they could all make a run for it.

"Why does he want to kill Lord Asriel?" Reepicheep pondered aloud.

"Dunno, but he's really got some nerve trying!" Lyra said through her teeth, clenching her fists.

"Come on, let's go!" cried Pan despairingly. "The others will arrive at any moment-the priest himself will come back!"

"Pantalaimon, don't be such a stupid coward!" huffed Lyra, folding her arms across her chest. "This is serious!"

"I dare say it is!" agreed Reepicheep. Lord Asriel may not have been a friend of his and Lucy's, but he was the one responsible for helping them escape the frozen north and giving them a place to stay at Jordan, and that alone warranted a level of respect. It was quickly becoming a matter of honour, something Reepicheep took very seriously.

With a soft grunting growl, a snow leopard pushed through the doors.

"Oh no, it's Stelmaria!" Pan whimpered, recognizing Lord Asriel's dæmon.

Sure enough, just behind the snow leopard, was Lord Asriel in a brown tweed suit worn over a sky-blue shift with a dark-coloured tie. His shoes, neat, but unshined, made almost as little noise as the soft padded paws of his dæmon as they struck against the hardwood floor. Wearily, he sat down, stroking his short golden beard with one hand and reaching for the stopper of the wine carafe with the other.

"No!" Lyra looked like she might start crying. "He aint gonna fall for it! He's only pretending, aint he? He can't _not_ know! He can't!"

"Maybe he's only going to smell it." Pantalaimon tried to reassure her, though just as he said it, the Lord Asriel had begun to pour himself a glass.

The dark world swirled before Lucy's eyes as they flashed from her dæmon, to Lyra, to Lyra's dæmon, through the tinted window to Lord Asriel's dæmon, and then to Lord Asriel himself. She kept thinking about when she and Peter had first met him, when he had stood holding that rifle pointed straight at them. And how he had shot that spy-fly right off of Peter's shoulder and saved him from being poisoned. If he had saved her brother, then it was up to her to save him now. No matter how frightening the prospect, she had to do it. She mustn't think about it, she knew, she must simply do it-do it at once.

Nudging Lyra aside, Lucy burst out of the side of the wardrobe, reached out, and knocked the glass out of Lord Asriel's hand. It crashed onto the floor where the glass broke into two neat pieces, body separated from stem. Wine fumed and splattered all over the place.

"Lucy!" Without thinking, Lord Asriel reached out and smacked her across the face.

Tears sprang into her eyes as she reached up to rub her flaming check.

"What the devil do you think you are doing?" He growled, his dæmon looking around for Reepicheep, perhaps to box him on the ears with one of her paws.

No answer came to Lucy's lips; they parted but no sound came out. Lord Asriel's hand flew backwards again, threatening to give her another smack if she didn't speak up, but Lyra came tumbling out of the wardrobe crying, "Don't! She's just saved your life!"

"The wine was poisoned," Lucy stammered, all but steadily weeping now (his smack hadn't exactly been a light love-tap).

"Nonsense!" said Lord Asriel with a conviction the almost-fearful look in his eyes did not back up.

"It aint nonsense!" Lyra practically shouted at him. "We saw that man with the Ruling Powers crest pour some powder into the wine."

"Did you now?" his face softened a bit and he half-smiled apologetically at Lucy while still holding onto a faint presence of exasperation.

"I wanted to see what the room was like...and to play with one of the scholars' gowns..." Lyra explained, somehow managing to look her uncle straight in the eyes while admitting all of this. "...but then the Master came in with that man..."

"Go back to your room, Lyra," Lord Asriel said sternly. "I will deal with you later."

Lucy turned to leave, too, but Lord Asriel grabbed onto her arm. "You I am not finished with, you'll stay until I dismiss you."

"Can't I stay, too, then?" Lyra tried.

The snow leopard growled at Pan who had in the meantime shifted back into an ermine and was sitting a few feet away from the table. Mustering up his courage, he turned into a pole-cat and hissed at her.

"Control your dæmon," ordered Lord Asriel, giving her a cutting glance. "and do as you're told."

"But you don't do as you're told!" Lyra pointed out a bit too loudly. "You don't let anyone tell you what to do."

"Yes, and look at the welcome I got!" Lord Asriel snapped at her, motioning down at the broken wine glass on the floor. "Now get out immediately!"

Shuddering, and still rubbing her cheek, Lucy wondered why he wouldn't let her leave, what he could possibly have to say to her that he didn't want to say to his own niece.

"Lucy-" he began just as some voices sounded outside the doors. Changing his mind, he glanced over at the wardrobe. "Get back in there, keep your eyes open and your mouth shut."

"I-"

"Go on," he made a gesture with his eyes over to the doors as if to remind her that it was either obey him and hide in the wardrobe, or else get caught. It was too late to leave the way Lyra and Pantalaimon had.

Sighing, Lucy trotted back over to the wardrobe and hid herself in the corner by the tinted window again.

"Is it just me or do we end up hiding in wardrobes a bit often?" Reepicheep, in the form of a black cat weaving in and out of the long scholars' gowns, said.

Lucy smiled at him and then turned her attention back to Lord Asriel; he was talking to the Master and a few other gentlemen and professors now.

"We've never met," the priest who had poisoned the wine, disappointed in having returned to find Lord Asriel alive, was saying. "but I've followed your work, my lord, very closely."

"Oh." Lord Asriel's nose wrinkled. "So that's what the smell is." Tossing the jacket of his suit over to the one servant permitted in the room at the moment, ordering him to turn off the lights, he added, "I shall get straight to the point."

"It looks like he's going to show slides of some kind." Reepicheep told Lucy who bit her lower lip and watched excitedly, wishing Lyra had been allowed to stay and see this, too.

"This photogram," Lord Asriel said in a commanding voice as he set up the slide. "was taken at the north pole in Svalbard, kingdom of the panserbjørne."

"The _what_?" Reepicheep whispered, a bit confused.

"I think it means armoured bears, same as panserbjørner, only its the Danish term instead." Lucy explained softly, holding her breath just as the light started to flow through the slide, about to show the picture.

"Oh." said Reepicheep, pressing up against her side to better see for himself what was going on in the room.

The photogram now showed a man standing beside his dæmon, a white husky dog, with some sort of grainy light flowing down from the sky onto them.

"Lord Asriel," asked one of the professors. "is that light coming down onto the man and his dæmon or going up from them?"

"Oh, it's coming down." answered Lord Asriel. "But it isn't light-it's Dust."

"Dust?" several voices exclaimed all at once.

Lucy's heart skipped a beat. "Dust, Reep!" Her hand tightened around his velvety black tail, and she swallowed hard. Was she finally about to find out what Dust _really_ was?

"Gentlemen," cooed the priest. "please allow Lord Asriel to explain-it could be an aberration or malfunction of some kind."

Lord Asriel glared at him. "It is no aberration; what you see are particles behaving differently from anything most of us have ever seen before." He paused for a moment to let that sink in. "Dust is flowing from another world you can just glimpse from the northern lights in the sky, into the man through his dæmon."

A hush swept over everyone, even the priest, they were spellbound.

"From there and from a billion other worlds, dust flows." he went on, getting louder and more excited in his tone. "Worlds of innumerable possibilities-worlds where men have no dæmons, where dæmons have no men!" He stopped for a moment and looked very hard at the priest. "And even some where there is no Ruling Power...and no White Lady."

"That is heresy." hissed the priest, reaching up to grab the stopper off the wine carafe, assuming that if it hadn't killed Asriel, it wouldn't kill him either.

" _That_ is the truth." Lord Asriel rolled his eyes and slapped his hand on top of the carafe before the priest could open it. "I wouldn't recommend that, it was a poor year."

How did he know? The priest wondered, staring at the nobleman as he walked back over to where he had set up his slide.

"So, in conclusion, I humbly beg the college to fund a journey to discover the source of Dust."

"I vote yes." the Master said softly, raising his eyes up at the Lord, their history being quietly exchanged, something of an old friendship being rekindled.

"He's going to find Dust, Reep." Lucy realized, wondering what that would mean for everyone.

"What do you think he's going to do with it when he does?"

"I don't know."


	35. Not taken north

As soon as the Master and the other men had exited the room, leaving only Lord Asriel and the unnoticed broken wine-glass on the floor behind, Lucy opened the wardrobe door and peeked her head out. Reepicheep, still a black cat, hopped down onto the hardwood floor only to get a smack right upside his sleek head from Stelmaria's snow-coloured paw.

"Ouch!" Lucy rubbed the back of her head, feeling her dæmon's discomfort.

"That's for sneaking in here." the snow leopard told Reepicheep as though she were his own mother scolding him.

"When you get back to your room, tell my niece that if she ever comes in here again I'll beat her within an inch of her life." Lord Asriel said, grabbing onto Lucy's arm and marching her out of the retiring room.

"I thought you wanted to talk to me about something." Lucy said.

"Well, I did, but now I don't feel like it." said Lord Asriel. "I'm tired."

"Oh." If it had been anyone else, Lucy might have pressed for more information, but she knew Asriel was not the sort of person you put pressure on without consequences.

"Now that the college is giving you the money you need," Lucy asked as he let go of her arm. "are you going north again?"

Lord Asriel nodded. "Yes, I'm leaving immediately."

"Will the Ruling Powers be very angry with you now?" she added rather sheepishly, thinking of how livid that man with the crest and cross had been when Lord Asriel's proposal was not only heard-but accepted.

Smiling in a grim, 'end of the world' sort of way, Lord Asriel said, "The Ruling Powers' days are numbered."

"But...what does that mean? Who are they really? Why do they get to send people to boss the Master around for no reason?" For a moment, Lucy forgot who she was speaking to and just let the questions pour out of her mouth.

"You know, if you hadn't just saved my life, I'd spank you for being so nosy." Lord Asriel told her, still smiling, only half-joking.

"I suppose that's a hint for me to go away, then?"

"Yes, I need to pack-I've already told you I'm going."

"Fine," said Lucy. "I'll leave you to it, but-"

His light-coloured brows came together exasperatedly. "But _what_? Do you ever stop asking questions?"

"It's not a question." Lucy said quietly, looking down at her hands and fidgeting with her fingers while she spoke. "Only that you haven't even said thank you."

He rolled his eyes and exhaled huffily. "Is that all you want? Fine, thank you, now go away."

Lucy nodded and turned to leave, never seeing how his tiny smile widened just the littlest bit behind her retreating back, far more grateful than he would ever let on.

Less than ten minutes later, Lord Asriel was up in his guest room, nearly finished with his packing, having only a few extra supplies to wrap up before leaving, when there was a loud knock on his door. Sighing, assuming it would be the butler he'd sent for to bring him a small meal and some tea or else the Master coming to bid him a quick farewell, he opened it. Standing there in the doorway was no well-trained servant or important educator, only a surly-face, wild-haired little girl with a white ermine-dæmon riding on one shoulder.

"Lyra, I didn't send for you!" he snapped unpleasantly, his dæmon growing at Pantalaimon who shuddered and shifted into a golden mouse small enough to hide under the collar of his human's dress.

"I know, but Lucy told me you was leaving." she explained through pouted lips and a sullen frown. "Are you going north again?"

"Yes." he answered monosyllabically, gritting his teeth at her in frustration.

Her whole face brightened up. "Can I come with you? I want to see the glaciers and the ice bears!"

"No, I'm not taking some troublesome child along with me, this is important work I have to do." He walked away from the door and reassumed his final packing as though she wasn't even standing there anymore.

Not one to take no for an answer, Lyra folded her arms across her chest and stomped right into the room after him. "I aint troublesome!"

"That isn't what the master says." he muttered under his breath.

"What'd the Master say I did?" sulked Lyra, looking up at him pleadingly. "I bet it aint even true! I'm good, really."

"You would be too hard to look after, I'm not your nursemaid, I'm your uncle."

"Well, if you're my uncle, I'm sure my father would have rather you take care of me than a bunch of strange scholars and professors."

He arched a brow at her and coolly replied, "Believe me, Lyra, I think I know far, far better than you how your _father_ would want you to be brought up."

"I'd bet he would have taken me with him if it was him going and not you." she sat right on top of his suitcase and waited to see what he would do. He could do whatever he wanted, she decided, he could slap her and yell, and he could even curse everyone from his mother to his own dæmon, as long as he took her with him when he calmed down.

Pushing her off of his suitcase with one good shove, Lord Asriel said, "Trust me, he wouldn't."

"But I can help!" Lyra protested, sitting up from the sideways position she'd landed on the other side of the bed in, Pan finally sticking his nose out from under her collar.

"How?"

"I could be your assistant!" said Lyra, throwing her hands in the air. "I _can_ learn things-if I want to learn 'em. I bet I'd learn more from working with you in the north for a week than studying 'ere for a hundred years."

"Lyra, is Jordan so terrible? Don't they treat you well enough?" For a moment his voice was actually quite tender and she mistakenly thought he was softening.

She smiled her half-charming, half-cunning grin and said, "No, they're fine, I just wanna go with you."

Lord Asriel's nose wrinkled and he looked nothing sort of disgusted. "If you are going to get silly and sentimental then I really am not going to waste my time with you."

"Well, I wont be sentimental because I fear you and hate you as much as I sometimes like you." Lyra pointed out, shrugging her shoulders.

"You have too much to say," Lord Asriel told her. "would you know when to keep your mouth shut?"

"Yeah, I know how to be a good spy-you can ask Billy Costa if you don't believe me."

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, Lyra, I will not take you with me."

"If I was a nephew, would you?" the words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she felt stupid and every bit as sentimental as she'd promised him she wouldn't be.

"No, I would have killed you by now and taken your inheritance." She knew his gruff tone was put-on and that he was joking-she didn't even _have_ an inheritance, he always told her that her parents had lost all their money shortly after she was born.

She was too upset about his refusal to bring her to the north with him to joke back or even respond to the joke at all. Instead, she stormed out of the room, Pantalaimon, now a snow leopard just like Stelmaria, following at her heels.

"Asriel, she's not a bad girl, you know." his dæmon whispered as soon as Lyra had left the room.

"Meaning?"

"Are you sure we're doing the right thing, keeping her here?"

"She's safe here; she and Lucy both are."

Stelmaria's soft colourless lids closed over her eyes. "I suppose."

" _Suppose_?" he turned and looked hard at his dæmon. "Don't you know it?"

"If we find Dust, what'll stop the Ruling Powers from using it for their own gain?"

"They're too afraid of it." he explained softly, gently reaching down and stroking his dæmon's fur. "You can't use something-neither for good nor evil-if you're too busy trying to destroy it."

"The Coulter woman will try to stop us-she believes in them, in how strong they are."

"Her time is running out, too, she's already lost her daughter-to my charity scholar, no less." At this, he chuckled lightly.

"You're actually happy about that?"

"And why not? It's one more pleasure I've got that she doesn't."

The snow leopard shook her soft downy head. "You used to love her once."

"She's a fool now, and if she trains that boy of hers to go up against us, we'll crush him-hopefully she knows that."

"Not so stupid, I shouldn't think, she was grooming her girl to be just like her-but she failed."

"She doesn't take failure lightly, Stelmaria, she never has."

"What will she do to us, do you think?"

"I don't know," Lord Asriel picked up his bags and lifted the handle of his suitcase, glancing briefly out the window at a passing beam of sunlight. "that's what makes this whole adventure so much _fun_."

"Yes, it's practically a free vacation." the snow leopard laughed bitterly.

In spite of the fact that she was steaming mad at her uncle, Lyra still spoke highly of him as she, Roger, Lucy, and their dæmons sat on the roof of the college, watching him leave.

"He's taking me to the north the next time he goes," Lyra lied, reaching out to rub her index finger against Pantalaimon who was currently a ruby-coloured cardinal perched only an inch or so away from where she was sitting. "He swore it."

Lucy sighed; she knew Lyra wasn't telling the truth, Lord Asriel would never have agreed to let a child-any child-tag along with him on his journeys if it could be helped, watching him leave had always-it seemed-been the lot in life for the college children. Lyra appeared to be sick of it, she desperately wanted to go north. It wasn't that she didn't like Jordan or care about anyone there, it was only that she was beginning to suffer from an uncontrolled, never satisfied, case of wanderlust.

"Why'd he swear it?" Roger almost always fell for Lyra's stories, not because he was dim-witted, but simply because he trusted her in all things. It was not in his nature to think his best friend was lying just because she was-in general-a liar.

"Cuz he needs my help." said Lyra, shoving a small patch of soot off of the side of her dress.

"What for?" Roger wanted to know, both curious and worried at the same time.

"Fighting probably." Lyra told him with a shrug of her shoulders. "He uses me as a spy sometimes. Like right now, I'm supposed to be on the look out for kidnappers cuz some kids from the next street went missing-plus also a few Gyptian kids, too, 'cept the grown-ups don't seem to care much about _them_."

Lucy wrung her hands and looked nervously over at Reepicheep, currently in his deer-mouse form, silently asking if he had noticed that quite a few children had suddenly turned up missing out of the blue. It reminded her a great deal of what Mrs. Coulter did, stealing away unwanted children for her experiments with cutting away their dæmons, and that made her very uncomfortable.

"People are saying whomever's taking away the kids are going after the poor ones; the Gyptians, the orphans, and...and the servant kids as well." Roger put his arms around his dæmon who was in the form of a beagle with hazily-amber eyes and long silky ears.

"You're scared of them!" Lyra realized, pointing a finger at him as if the idea that he could feel fear was nothing short of mind-boggling to her.

"No I aint!" Roger cried.

Lucy smiled consolingly at him and Lyra arched her neck.

"But the adults are," he amended. "they're scared stiff. I hear them talking about it all the time down in the kitchens."

"Roger," Lyra said softly. "I promise, if you was taken away-by anyone at all-I'd come and find you, rescue you, too."

He smiled and loosened his grip on his dæmon.

"You'd come and get me-or Lucy-wouldn't you?"

"Yeah," said Roger. "But everyone would go looking for either of you, Lord Asriel would have their heads if his charity case's sister or his niece went missing."

"You really think so?" Lucy couldn't help wondering if Lord Asriel cared anything for them at all.

"Course." Roger sighed. "That's why no one's taken either of you anywhere, cuz Lord Asriel would get upset."

"What are we going to do about Billy Costa, though?" Lyra wondered aloud, remembering-at last-that they hadn't managed to steal a scholars' gown after all.

Relieved at the subject change, Roger suggested avoiding Billy until it was time for his family to sail away for the year. "Then he'll probably have forgotten all about the poisoned gown by the time he gets back."

"That's stupid," said Lyra, laughing a little. "we'd be better off just trying to go into the retiring room again-ow!" She cried out in pain because Pan had just shifted into a small gnat and bit her on the hand.

"I guess that's out of the question." said Reepicheep.

A top-floor window suddenly swung open and a house-maid leaned out screaming for them to get off of the roofs and didn't they know they had been very naughty to sneak up there in the first place.

Sighing, the girls stood up and wobbled over the high-up metal planks until they reached the window and hopped in. Roger had his own way of getting back inside; through a little tower-room that, when followed all the way down, led almost directly to the kitchens.

"You girls had better get cleaned up right away." the house-maid told them crossly, grabbing onto Lyra and attempting to brush a dirt-clod out of her hair. "Oh, bother! Well, I suppose it will come out after you've had your bathe."

"Why all the fuss?" Lucy asked as another house-maid, a quiet one who almost never spoke so you didn't know she was present until you were standing right in front of her, gripped her shoulders and started sighing over the state of her pale gray dress and slightly-dirty stockings.

"You're supping at high-table tonight."

"Not again!" Lyra's face recoiled and she hated her uncle more than anything at the moment. If he had taken her with him, she'd probably have been allowed to eat any way she pleased, no high-table manners, just good quick traveling food and fingers to lick clean afterwards.


	36. Still scared

Seated on her mahogany-framed chair at the high-table, Lyra placed her tired upper-chin in both of her hands, crossed her bored, glazed eyes, and slumped in her chair. She knew it was bad manners to behave like this, she simply didn't care. Being tried and cross, and having been scolded for not eating some of the nasty-looking green vegetables on her plate, she had no mind for etiquette. Of course, she never really _did_ , but still. Pantalaimon was a white ermine dozing at her feet, feeling a little worn-out himself.

Across from her, Lucy was sitting up, if not straight, than certainly straighter than Lyra was. Reepicheep, in his golden-brown cat form was hissing at Doe every time she tried to get near him; she was always too playful for his liking. Doe, in turn, would hide between Peter's legs, never even noticing that he paid her no mind now.

Seated at his other side was Susan; and it was more than a little apparent that they were holding hands under the table. Maugrim, almost indifferent to their constant displays of affection by this point, let out a doggish yawn and rested his head on his paws.

"Oh, Reep," whispered Lucy to her dæmon, pretending to bend down to pick up a fork she had dropped. "Peter's finally happy again."

Reepicheep twisted his head upwards and looked over at the young couple who-whenever they happened to glance at each other-always had these demented-looking little smiles on their faces. "I am _glad_ , Lucy, I was starting to worry about him too,"

The Master turned and looked at Lyra, taking in her sorry posture with a look of disappointment, but not commenting on it as he had something else he needed to discuss with her at the moment. "Lyra, my dear," he began in as calm and kindly a voice as he could manage.

Lyra blinked at him and raised her head up barely half-way. "Mmm?"

"I was informed that you missed your physics lesson again." he said calmly, giving her a concerned glance.

As if she were a criminal being interrogated, Lyra said nothing at all, making her mouth a thin, unmoved line in the centre of her face.

"I know that you do not always understand our need to educate you," he sighed deeply, not at all sure she was actually listening to him. "but sometimes you must do what others feel are best for you."

"Ah, but I disagree, Master." a smooth, bell-like, buttery voice nothing at all like Lyra's half-urchin prattle chimed in.

Everyone looked up to see who the speaker was and many a face went white. Peter's grip on Susan's hand tightened; he could feel her repressed trembling through her vibrating wrist. Lucy felt her stomach lurch and thought she was going to be sick; Reepicheep shifted into a brown weasel and climbed up onto her lap. A gorgeous blonde woman in an evening gown of glittering gold sequins with eyes just as blue as Susan's, and a fair golden monkey-dæmon at her side, stood before them.

"Mrs. Coulter!" exclaimed the Master, his eyes flashing and widening, and his mind spinning.

All the male scholars and professors rose up from their seats to greet her respectfully. All of them, that is, except for Peter who didn't want to let go of Susan's hand in this woman's presence. Someone casually kicked his chair; it was a reminder that he had no choice, he must stand. Susan, being a lady, was not required to stand, so she had to stay seated-all the while letting her eyes flicker back and forth from her mother to her husband fearfully.

Why was she there? Susan couldn't help wondering, sensing Maugrim's bristled fur through her own on-edge neck hairs and the goose-bumps on her arms. Had she come all this way to see Susan? To try to take her back home with her? Or was this about Peter? Did she want her experiment back? If so, why wasn't she there sooner? How had she gotten into the campus in the first place?

It must be about me, Susan thought-looking down at her wedding ring wishing for a moment that it was still fused to her husband's band, why else would she be here? She's knows I'm here, and Lord Asriel would never let her just come in here and take Peter or Lucy-though she would have no reason to want Lucy in the first place anyway-so what else could it be?

"When I was a young woman," Mrs. Coulter was saying, smiling softly down at Lyra who glanced up at her with an awestruck expression they'd only ever seen her wear when somebody mentioned exploring the north, or seeing the panserbjørner. "I knew that no one could ever really truly understand me-except, of course, for my dæmon, and that it would be best if we were allowed to do as we pleased."

Lyra was positively beaming now as Mrs. Coulter told the men they could be seated and sat down herself-in the empty space right beside Lyra.

"Who's that?" Pan whispered breathlessly up at his human.

"Dunno, but she shut up the Master alright." she giggled down at him.

Peter glared across the table at the woman who had, not only kept him prisoner in Bolvangar for god knows how long, but had also hurt the girl he loved by letting her dæmon attack Maugrim. He was not about to let her anywhere near his wife, even if she was his mother-in-law.

Oddly enough, however, Mrs. Coulter only graced the couple with a brief, barely noteworthy glance, and then turned her attention back to Lyra.

"Lyra," said the Master anxiously. "this is Mrs. Coulter, a friend-of sorts-of the college." Turning to Mrs. Coulter he added, "And this is _our_ Lyra, Lyra _Belacqua_ , Lord Asriel's _niece_."

Unfazed, "Lovely to meet you, dear."

Lyra shook the woman's hand; it felt smooth and warm. "Lovely to meet you, too."

"You know, I've met your uncle." Mrs. Coulter told her, gingerly tilting her head closer to the thoroughly-captivated child.

Lyra's eyes widened with surprise and she listened, eager to learn more.

"Yes, it was up north near the kingdom of the ice bears."

"I think I'm going to be sick." Maugrim muttered gruffly to his human, watching all of this, still trying to puzzle out what was going on.

"You've seen an ice bear?" Poor Lyra was all so enchanted; a lady who wanted people to let her do whatever it was she wanted _and_ had see ice bears? It was rather like a kind of dream.

"More than one." Mrs. Coulter winked at her.

"Oh," said Lyra.

"You seem like such a sweet young lady," said Mrs. Coulter. "I feel I can trust you."

Lyra looked down modestly, feeling unworthy of all this borderline-motherly attention from the glamorous noblewoman she'd only just met.

"You know what, dear? I'm going to have to go back to the north very soon-I'm going to need an assistant."

At that, Lyra's heart did summersaults. "Me? Go to the north? With you? Really?"

"North?" Pan piped up, his tone nearly as excited as his human's though a bit more restrained. "It's cold up there."

Mrs. Coulter sighed, "Would you like that?"

"Very much."

"Then we'd better get the Master's permission," she whispered, shifting her gaze over to the Master.

A piece of fish fell off of the fork Susan was raising to her mouth, and Doe got a hold of it under the table and ate it. Susan didn't notice; she was too horrified that she had not seen it sooner-it was not _her_ that her mother had come for, it was Lyra!

Lucy swallowed hard, hoping this was all a bad dream.

"Master," cooed Mrs. Coulter cheerfully. "I was wondering if I might borrow dear Lyra-only for a while, of course."

The Master clenched his jaw. Releasing it, he said, "I don't think that would fit with Lord Asriel's wishes for his _niece's_ education, do you?"

Mrs. Coulter's eyes darkened a shade and she stared hard at him. "You let me deal with Asriel, Master, you mustn't deny me this little thing, you really mustn't."

Closing his eyes as if in deep pain, the Master murmured, "Very well,"

"What?" Lucy and Peter burst out at the same time, unable to believe what they had just heard, though it was done and they could do nothing about it.

Doe thought this was all turning into a real party now, with all of the people talking loudly and the flying fish-straps, it was good to know that everyone was in good sprits. Perhaps someone would even give her a saucer of milk later if this festive mood continued.

Under the table, to Doe's left, Mrs. Coulter's golden monkey was cradling Lyra's snowy ermine in his arms, softly stroking his white fur with his shimmering sleek paws.

An hour or so later, long after supper was finished and everyone had retired to their rooms, Susan went up to the guest room her mother had secured for herself. She hadn't told Peter where she was going because she didn't want him to worry, but she figured it was safe enough seeing as Mrs. Coulter's interest had shifted away from one daughter to the other. In all likelihood, Susan was perfectly safe-it was Lyra who would need protection now. Walking briskly at her side, Maugrim let out a low growl feeling displeased and a little frightened in spite of everything.

Of course her mother had gotten a guest-lodging with a sitting-room outside of it and was causally sipping a late-night glass of iced-brandy, looking innocent and angelic, and far younger than she really was, not at all like the monster Susan knew she could be sometimes.

"Hello there," her mother said when she saw her runaway daughter standing at the threshold of the partly ajar door.

"Hello mother," Susan said awkwardly, glancing down at Maugrim who gritted his teeth at the golden monkey.

"Did you want something?" Mrs. Coulter asked in the same polite manner she would have used on a complete stranger.

"Can I come in?" Susan asked rather quietly, daring to look her mother straight in the eyes. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Come in," she nodded, holding the door open the rest of the way.

Susan stepped cautiously as if she were a mouse easing itself over a trap so as not to get its tail or paw snagged; Maugrim's movements were similar although he kept his eyes unwaveringly on the monkey at all times, protecting himself in case of a sudden attack.

The room already smelled just like her mother's perfume although she hadn't been there that long, and the regular pale-green curtains had been replaced with dark purple ones that had a white-gold thread trimming around their edges. It felt very odd for Susan to be in that room, like she had traveled back in time to her old home and former life somehow. As if for reassurance, she rubbed her right index finger along the dent in the gold ring on her left hand. Comforted, she pressed on and took a seat next to a small tea-table, feeling stronger somehow, like she had grown immune to the very things that used to scare her-if only for a fleeting moment.

A loud snore from behind startled her and made her jump; Maugrim pouncing protectively on nothing but plain, bare carpeting. On a couch a few feet away, a dark-haired boy of about fourteen was sound asleep with his back to her.

So Edmund was there, too, then, but why was he suddenly snoring so loudly? For as long as she could remember, he'd always snored either softly or not at all, so why was he suddenly loud enough to drone out an orchestra? Her first thought was that he must have been faking and was actually awake, but Maugrim sniffed and nudged Ella who was sleeping standing up on the arm of the couch, breathing rather heavily herself, only to find that she was indeed asleep and that he couldn't easily make her stir.

"Don't bother your brother, Susan," Mrs. Coulter said as she took a seat across from her. "can't you see he's tired?"

"Why didn't he come down to supper with you?" Susan wanted to know.

"That's none of your business. Now tell me, what was it you wanted to talk about?" She crossed her legs and the golden monkey sat down on her lap.

"What makes you think you can just come here and take Lyra away?" demanded Susan, her face tightening. "Lord Asriel will be furious."

"Probably, but there's nothing he can do about it." Mrs. Coulter told her with a sly smile.

"What do you mean?"

"He's already heading north, guards from the Ruling Powers are after him, as well as a few lawyers from the unfinished case of your father's death, and he'll be much too busy avoiding capture to bother about me."

"You planned all of this!" Susan realized, stricken with horror and disgust.

"She is my daughter," Mrs. Coulter pointed out.

"Who you never cared about before," added Susan.

"Well, I've already lost one daughter, haven't I?" she said demurely, arching a brow at her eldest child. "Perhaps I'll have better luck with this one."

"She's a replacement for me, then?"

Mrs. Coulter nodded. "I can't launch your brother onto society before he's properly educated, now can I?"

"That's what he thinks you came here for, isn't it?" Susan gasped, curling her fingers around the arms of her seat, digging her fingernails into the upholstery. "He doesn't know..."

"Of course not." Mrs. Coulter snorted self-righteously.

"So that's your idea, is it? Get the daughter you never cared about before you lost me, and dump your son off here?"

"Don't speak to me in that tone," said Mrs. Coulter. "You haven't a right to."

"Why didn't you ever tell me that you knew where Peter was all this time?" It was another question that had been bothering her as of late, and she figured this might be her only chance to ask it.

"Because I knew you had no self-restraint and would have gone after him like the pathetic little harlot you've turned into." Her mother's eyes became stormy and her glare stony, filled with cold hard anger.

"Excuse me?" Susan's brows sank into the middle of her forehead.

"I know you're sleeping with him," Mrs. Coulter informed her, moving a blonde curl behind one ear as she spoke. "did you really think I wouldn't find that out-or wouldn't have known it from the first?"

"He's my husband," Susan felt her face growing hot with fury. "there's nothing wrong with what we do."

"Husband?" Mrs. Coulter's glower lowered itself into a half-glance down at her left hand. "Oh, yes, those silly little pieces of cheep scrap gold the two of you wear on your fingers."

Maugrim snapped his teeth at the monkey, not liking the sneer the nasty little primate was looking at him with.

"I love my ring," Susan said boldly. "and more than that I love the man who gave it to me."

"Please," said Mrs. Coulter, putting her hand up. "spare me."

"It's true."

"I cannot believe that the child I raised honestly thinks that because some boy puts a ring on her finger, she's married to him." she continued bitterly. "You're a fool, Susan."

"You're just jealous because I'm happier with him than you ever were-with anyone." Susan shot back, holding onto her ring finger like it was an injured baby bird.

"Don't fool yourself, child, you're not his wife, he has no legal reasons to stay with you and you know it-you're only his whore." Mrs. Coulter didn't seem to care that she had greatly over-stepped a line, or that there were real tears filling up her daughter's eyes as she bit her lower lip, desperate to hold them back.

"I think I should go." Susan had meant to stay longer and attempt to talk her mother out of taking Lyra away, but there was no chance of that now, she couldn't bear to be in the same room with this woman for another minute.

"Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was for me to have to explain your little fling to your betrothed?"

Maugrim leaned against his human's side as she stood up, furious as a couple of tears escaped and rolled down her face. "I'm sure you'll get over it, mother, and I hope you and Lyra are happy-because I am never speaking to you again."

Backing away from his mistress for a moment, Maugrim stepped closer to the couch where Edmund was laid out. This time, he noticed a silver, gold-rimmed goblet resting against its side a few feet away. "Susan, look!"

Susan came forward and picked up the glass gingerly, placing her nose against the rim so as to sniff at whatever its former contents had been. It was a sharp, potent smell that burned her nose hairs. "What did you give him?"

"You're still here? I thought you weren't going to speak to me anymore." Mrs. Coulter answered, glancing up from a fashion-book she suddenly had in her hands.

The snoring, Susan realized, was because the sleep wasn't natural. Whatever Mrs. Coulter had put in her son's cup had knocked him out cold. She had done this, Susan pieced together, because she didn't want Edmund standing in the way of her trying to take her illegitimate daughter away from the college property; she had done it so he wouldn't see and hear her talking to the Master at the high-table, all the while charming Lyra and getting the poor girl wrapped around her creamy-smooth finger.

The drugged drink was wearing off slightly, enough so that Susan could-though it had to be firmly and a bit roughly-shake her brother's shoulder so that he woke up.

Groggily, she heard him moan and start to roll over.

"Ed?"

"Su?" he murmured, sounding dazed and loopy.

"Yes, Edmund, it's me." Susan said, her heart racing as Ella slowly started to come-to as well, ruffling her feathers sleepily. "Do you know where you are?"

"A couch?" Edmund guessed, clearly using all of his currently available brain-power just to come up with that answer.

Susan gently stroked the side of his arm until he rolled over all the way and faced her. As soon as she saw his face, she jumped back and recoiled in terror. She had expected that he might be puffy or droopy from the drugged sleep, but she hadn't thought she would see a dark circle firmly embedded around one eye.

A shriek caught itself on her lips, getting released through a bay from Maugrim's throat.

"Oh my..." Susan spun around and glowered straight at her mother this time letting the tears roll as freely as they liked, shaking her head with rage. "How could you?"

"I didn't do anything," said Mrs. Coulter, calmly patting the back of the golden monkey who looked ready to have a fit. "he had an accident in the stables recently."

That was a lie, and Susan knew it, not only because she knew her brother had been harmed by her before-though not to this extreme degree-but also because she saw little partly-healed marks all around the bruise. They were long and deep, like a monkey's claw, or worse, like their mother's fingernails.

"I hate you, and between you and me," she swallowed hard, nearly choking on her own rage and saliva. "I'm happier being the dæmonless boy's harlot, if that's how you want to see it, than your daughter." With that, she grabbed onto her brother's hand. "Come on, Edmund."

"What do you think you're doing?" Mrs. Coulter demanded, standing up to block their way.

"Taking my brother away from you," Susan shoved passed her and stormed out of the room, leading a frazzled Edmund and a tipsy-looking Ella behind her.

The golden monkey started to lurch towards Maugrim, but Mrs. Coulter shook her head. "No, let them go, it's time to start anew."

Edmund didn't seem to have the least notion of what was going on as his elder sister led him down the hallways towards the dorm room she shared with her husband; Ella rested on his shoulder now and had nearly fallen off at least three times before they reached their destination.

"Susan?" Peter swung the door open anxiously, having been just about to go looking for her.

She stood there, crying heavily, but fighting it all the while, trying to keep a firm, unmoved brave-face on. Needless to say, she was failing miserably, and as soon as Peter saw Edmund's one blackened eye and two glassy ones, he understood why.

As soon as Edmund was in the quiet dorm, he plopped on a chair by the fireplace and fell back asleep-only his snoring was quieter, much to Susan's relief. Ella's ruffled feathers softened, and her twisted beak uncurved and relaxed.

"It's going to be fine," rubbing the side of her arms, Peter tried to comfort Susan who stood, looking vacant, still trembling though she didn't even realize it.

"No it's not." Susan whispered brokenly; Maugrim whimpered and pulled his whole body under the legs of a wooden chair at the far-end of the room.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm still scared," she blinked away the hazy blur swimming before her eyes. "even after everything, I'm still scared."


	37. An alethiometer for Lyra

"Master," said Peter as levelly as he could possibly manage, his body half-shaking with repressed rage as he stood before the Master of Jordan College. "how can you let Mrs. Coulter take Lyra?"

The poor man, appearing twice his already-old age, sighed, looked up at Peter-and then at his side where Susan stood, looking cross and frightened-and replied, "She is her mother, and the child wishes to go with her. I thought perhaps if I could make it so that our dear little Lyra was dissuaded from wanting to leave with a woman she barely knows, I could use that as an excuse of refusal-for the child's own good."

"And?" Susan demanded tersely; Maugrim's body lowered itself, but his head stuck up defiantly.

"And Lyra is nothing but delighted over leaving with Mrs. Coulter, she thinks of nothing but going north-you know that."

"So? You've refused her many things she's wanted before." Peter pointed out, glancing from the Master to the loudly-ticking wall-clock on the far end of the office-room they were standing in.

"Lyra or Mrs. Coulter?" He seemed a bit confused.

"Both," Susan answered for her husband.

"Well, there was a man-god knows how he got into this building, but he did-and he talked to Lyra and asked her how she liked Mrs. Coulter; the child practically sang the woman's praises and prattled on about how excited she was to be an assistant to her."

"What difference does that make?" Peter asked curtly, wishing the Master would grow a spine and stand up for Lyra before it was too late.

His voice shook and his eyes blinked wearily. "My dears, my dears, that man, the chap who spoke to Lyra, though she didn't know it, he was Mrs. Coulter's lawyer."

"What will you say to Lord Asriel when he comes back?" Susan said, taking a step forward. "How will you explain that his daughter is not here?"

"Daughter?" Peter gasped. "Lucy's leaving, too? Over my dead body!"

Susan turned and stared hard at her husband for a moment. "Lucy is Lord Asriel's daughter?" She had known, from talking with Iorek Byrnison, that Lucy was not Peter's real sister by blood, but she hadn't thought about who her father might be; and she certainly never suspected Lord Asriel of all people.

"Um, no." Peter said too quickly, looking puzzled. "I mean, who were you talking about?"

"Lyra," Susan's arched a brow at him.

"Lyra's his niece." Peter said.

Susan chuckled bitterly. "That's what she thinks."

"Lyra's the baby he had with your mother, then." Peter realized, feeling stupid for not piecing it together before. "But what about the Count and Countess Belacqua?"

"Completely made up." the Master told them. "There never were any such people."

"And the surname Belacqua?" Peter pressed.

"Something Lord Asriel came up with," the Master's raven-dæmon cawed sadly.

"But what's this about Lucy?" Susan wanted to know, though it meant going off the subject.

"I'd suspect she was the long-lost child Asriel had by his wife, Lady Sarah." the Master answered before Peter had a chance to.

"Lord Asriel never mentioned a wife." said Susan, feeling worse still about everything that was unfolding before them.

"I heard about her from Farder Coram." Peter explained, hating Lord Asriel for not even mentioning the woman he supposedly was in love with in spite of his cheating on her with Marisa Coulter.

"Well, I didn't see Lord Asriel much growing up," said Susan, getting a little red in the face. "Only once or twice; he and my mother would come out of her room looking very tired-I didn't know what was happening then, I thought they were talking about politics-and that they were worn out from disagreeing about them-until I was a little older and realized what was really going on."

Peter was instantly overcome by a wave of pity for the child-version of Susan; living with that sometimes-sweet, sometimes-cruel mother was bad enough, but to add the fact that she very nearly _saw_ the woman cheating on her father with Asriel, well, he wondered how she had possibly been able to bear it.

"Anyway, I am sorrier than you'll ever be able to understand-and I know, if he ever comes back, Lord Asriel will want my head on a pike-but it's out of my hands now." the Master said, rubbing his temples dejectedly. "Lyra must go with Mrs. Coulter."

"Heaven help her," Susan sigh-murmured, remembering her own glamorous, seemingly perfect childhood, and how it had all come crashing down when she had finally discovered that nearly everything she loved and believed in was a lie.

In the meantime, Lucy and Reepicheep wandered the hallways down towards Peter's dorm, looking forlorn and a bit sullen, both completely at their wits-ends and frustrated beyond all reason. All morning they'd tried to talk Lyra and Pantalaimon out of their resolve to leave with Mrs. Coulter, explaining as much as they dared to about her real nature, but Lyra had been too lost in her day-dreams of the north-and of being an assistant to such an important lady-to pay them any mind.

Lyra had been nothing but deliriously happy and chipper while the house-maids, with a feeling of sadness at losing the child they suddenly found they loved dearly in spite of all the trouble she caused them daily, packed her suitcases and told her to keep safe and warm. Reepicheep's pleadings with Pantalaimon did little good, even he was excited over the notion of it-the first step in becoming an explorer.

So now Lucy was headed to the one person who always knew how to comfort her when she felt desperate, alone, and helpless-her brother. In her stocking-feet (because she was so upset she had forgotten all about her shoes) she half-trotted, half-slid to the dorm's doorway. The door wasn't latched, only shut, and there was no answer when she knocked. By the third try, she figured he wasn't there and that she might as well wait for him-or even Susan who, being such a very motherly person, could often offer comfort as well-to return.

Upon stepping inside, one of the very first things she noticed was the boy asleep in the chair by the fire, his head turned away from her towards it's dim, ember-lit heat, and his white owl-dæmon perched near-by.

"Ella!" Reepicheep cried out, shifting into a brown horned-owl and flying over to his old friend.

"Edmund," Lucy lifted her dress and ran over to the chair, gently shaking his arm.

He looked older, his face leaner and less boyish, his body longer-taller, if he were standing-and his hands larger, but it was still him all the same-the first friend she'd ever made in this world when she had stumbled here from that wardrobe in that other college, the one Lord Digory owned. So naturally, she was nothing short of delighted to see him, but her delight was over-shadowed by the fact that he didn't quite seem himself and when he turned, his eyes still more shut than open, she saw the round, dark bruise and had to bite back a scream. The black eye was worse even than the hurt arm he'd had when she had known him before back in Bolvangar, and she had little doubt as to who had done this.

She stood up at once and made a dash for Peter's bathroom, knowing that she could find a basin, some hot water, a bit of medicine perhaps, and a face-cloth in there. When she came back, finding Edmund still out of it, she got down on her knees next to the chair and slowly started to dap the damp cloth against his injured eye while Reepicheep rubbed his feathers against Ella's as if to comfort her.

To Edmund, the cloth felt warm and soothing, but it also stung slightly and he started to open the other eye all the way to see what was going on. He didn't recognize little Lucy at first, only seeing the small, slim, pale figure of a very young female, clutching a basin in one hand and a cloth in the other, her face hidden by a stream of long reddish-brown hair falling over the side of one shoulder. Without thinking, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he reached up and ran one of his fingers around a lock of it, tentatively twirling it around like a spool of thread.

As he slowly released it, she turned her head and he caught sight of her face for the first time, knowing her for who she was now, knowing her for his old friend, Lucy Pevensie.

"Lucy?" he whispered, his tone somewhere between pleased and a bit distraught.

"You're hurt," Lucy told him as if she thought he somehow was unaware of this fact.

"Yes-but I'm fine." Edmund blurted out, looking around the room, darting the one free eye everywhere at once, not knowing where he was or how he had gotten there.

"You're _not_ fine." Lucy was adamant and sounded a good deal older than her meager twelve years.

"Maybe not," Edmund amended, reaching down and putting his hand on her upper arm. "but, Lucy, it is good to see you again."

Her firmness melted into nothing, a smile replaced her fearful frown, and she pulled the cloth away from his eye so that she could look at all of him, not just one side of his face. "It's good to see you again, too."

Up in the room that had once been Lyra's, then Lyra's and Lucy's, and now would-for a little while-be only Lucy's while Lyra went up north with the kindly noblewoman who needed an assistant, Pantalaimon, in the form of a pine marten, rested on the windowsill, gazing out at the familiar old roof-tops he and his human had always considered their explorer's look-out. It had been their everything for so long that he felt a strange surge of sentimentality towards it as he watched the chimney smoke curl and puff away in the distance.

Then, the scene changed; a pair of well-worn, yet sturdy, leather-hide boots appeared, clicking along the metal planks as they came closer. A knee bent and a head ducked, a hand tapped on the glass as gently as a visitor might knock at a regular door. The beak of a sea-gull dæmon banged lightly against the frame as if to remind Pantalaimon to alert his mistress at once.

"Lyra!" said Pan, calling to his human who sat a few feet away, banging the back of her feet against the side of the chair she was in, day-dreaming about the north.

She spun around and stood up quickly, looking hard at the lean, grown-up, dark-olive, muscular face framed by a shoulder-length mantel of blackish hair peering through the glass at her. It took a moment, but she finally placed him. It was Caspian, a Telmarine Gyptian. She didn't know too much about him-he'd come to these parts quite recently, but she knew enough to find him interesting. The story of his freakish uncle who had delusions of grandeur and dreamed of a human-form dæmon had spread among the Gyptian kids and the college children like wildfire. Everyone under the age of thirteen (and a few older ones who refused to admit that they had listened) knew all about it.

Banging her elbow into the frame by accident from her eagerness to lift the latch and find out what he was doing there, Lyra finally got the window open and let him in.

"Hello, Lyra." he greeted her.

"Caspian," she said back, watching as he looked around her room, seemed to debate taking a seat somewhere, and then chose to keep standing up instead.

"I hear you are going north," he said dryly, as if making small talk for a moment before launching into whatever it was he'd really come to tell her.

"Yes, Mrs. Coulter's taking me." Lyra told him, enjoying the pleasure-filled thrill speaking the words aloud sent up and down her spine.

He sighed and nodded, seeming to have already known that somehow, and then said, "I have to tell you something, it's about Billy Costa."

"He's not mad that I never came with the poisoned gown, is he?" Lyra blurted out anxiously.

"No, I don't think he is," Caspian's face grew grave and sorrowful. "He's missing, Lyra."

Her own face crumbled. "What? But aint that normal? For a Gyptian to wander off for a little while?"

"Not like this," said Caspian, his eyes shifting from her to Pan, his sea-gull letting out a sad high-pitched cry. "Ma Costa's worried sick."

"They'll find him, Gyptians can find anyone." Lyra was sure of it.

"They think he was kidnapped; and there's more, I am sorry."

"What is it?" Lyra felt her heart fly up into her throat and fought the urge to scoop Pantalaimon up into her arms and squeeze him tightly the way an infant might clutch at a stuffed toy.

"Your friend, Roger, was with Billy when he was last seen and no one's been able to find _him_ , either." He sighed deeply and let that sink in.

"Who'sever took Billy, took Roger, too, you mean?" she asked, her head pounding and her hands beginning to grow slippery with sweat-beads.

Caspian nodded. "I thought you would want to know about it before you left."

Lyra blinked, her eyelashes fluttering in pain though they weren't damp with the tears any other child might have shed all at once. Pan climbed up onto the arm of a chair and placed his head on her side comfortingly.

There was a knock at the door, and just as quickly as he had come, Caspian hopped out of the window and disappeared into the Jordan smog. A rather over-weight house-maid came in just in time to see Lyra with a bitter, lost look on her face, closing the window. Assuming the girl was merely saying goodbye to the roof-land she had loved as a child, knowing that perhaps by the time she came back she might be older, a young lady, almost a woman, even, the maid said nothing at all about it, only mentioning quickly that it would soon be time to go and she ought to be ready.

The door opened again and the Master himself, in one of his nicest visiting suits, strolled in, his expression wholly apprehensive. To the maid he said, "Please wait outside by the door, it's very important that I know at once if I was followed."

Startled, the woman bore a goose-like look about her for a moment before obeying and replying, "Oh, yes, Master, right away." The door shut behind her with a light thud.

"I've come to say goodbye to you, Lyra." said the Master, pausing for a moment as if expecting the house-maid to burst back in and announce that he had in fact been followed even all the way to this room.

"Goodbye, Master." Lyra said, feeling unexpectedly torn about parting with him, for he suddenly seemed almost like a grandfather would have seemed to her if she'd known anything at all of grandfathers.

His smile was forced and short lived, but not unkind.

"I-I promise to be very good and behave for Mrs. Coulter," Lyra stammered shakily, thinking that maybe he was worried she would act badly towards the generous noblewoman and shame the college.

"I have something for you, Lyra." With these words he pulled a bolt of black velvet out from under the coat of his suit and handed it to her.

"What is this?" Lyra's eyes glittered, momentarily forgetting about the sad-faced Master, Caspian's visit, and her lost friends.

"It's an alethiometer, also known as a Golden Compass." he explained, watching as she pulled back the velvet, holding the object itself in her hands now. "It was given by Lord Asriel to the college a very long time ago, and now, I'm giving it to you."

She thought not of how heavy it was, only of it's strange beauty, all gold and shimmering, like something out of a story-book. "What's it for?"

"It tells the truth."

Pan, shifting into a black-footed ferret, sniffed at the alethiometer curiously. "How?"

"People are for ever trying to hide the facts, the truths, but this lets you glimpse things as they are-though it cannot easily be read, I'm afraid." The Master watched her almost-quiet fascination as she opened it and examined the crystal-like face and the little pictures all around the edge. "Still, I feel you are meant to have it."

"I'll take good care of it." Lyra promised, already more than half in love with the thing, little as she knew about it. It would not easily be taken from her grip-a fact which made the Master feel both afraid and joyful at the same time.

"One more thing I must make you promise me, child." He got down on his knees and took her hands in his, holding them as tightly as he could without being inappropriate. "You must keep the alethiometer to yourself, do you understand? It is of the utmost importance that Mrs. Coulter does not know you have it, of the utmost importance!"

Lyra blinked at him, confused and dazzled, and amazed and stunned, and broken and whole, and lost and found, and wistful, stubborn and willing all at once.

"Please," he pleaded, his eyes fixed so intently on hers; nearly filling with tears, she thought. "Promise me."

"I promise." she swore.

And she was not lying.


	38. Comforts and Warnings

Lyra stood in her nicest burgundy traveling coat, each one of her normally wild ringlets tucked into a soft wool gray cap-bonnet held in place by a smooth satin ribbon that tied loosely under her chin. She wore new gloves, a gift from one of the scholars who had come to bid her goodbye; she rubbed her covered hands together nervously. Pantalaimon was perched on her shoulder in the form of a blue-jay.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lyra saw a manservant in a dark coat-tail serving-suit comforting his wife who was weeping steadily. They were Roger's parents, she knew, and they hadn't the faintest idea where he was. The manservant whispered something that might have been, "We have to be brave."

Her stomach turned, twisting itself into painful, ever-tightening knots. Poor Roger, always such a good friend, so loyal, so steadfast...how could she possibly leave without saying good-bye to him? And what of Billy Costa? Was Caspian right? Were they really taken somewhere together? If so, where?

"Lyra!" a cheerful voice cried, interrupting her thoughts.

Mrs. Coulter, wearing the most splendid traveling clothes imaginable, including a tan-coloured, fur-lined coat almost as pretty as she herself was, stood before her; her golden monkey trotting at her side, grinning at Pan.

"Hello, Mrs. Coulter." she greeted her respectfully.

"Are you ready?" she asked eagerly, her lips parting into a friendly smile.

Happy as she still was to be going away with this delightful noblewoman, Lyra couldn't help saying, "There's someone missing, I want to say good-bye to Roger."

Bending down to little Lyra's level and gently lifting up her chin with one soft finger, Mrs. Coulter asked, "Who's Roger?"

"My friend," Lyra told her unflinchingly. "He works in the kitchens."

Checking her expensive gold watch, Mrs. Coulter sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, we really must go." She offered out her hand for Lyra to take. "Come, Lyra."

Lyra stared at the hand blankly for a moment, torn between obeying this woman and her desire to see Roger safe and sound once more before leaving.

"Why don't you write him a letter?" suggested Mrs. Coulter.

"I can't, he's missing."

"Children wander off all the time, dearie, I'm sure by the time your letter gets here they will have found him, and what a nice surprise he'll have-a letter from his friend!" She offered her hand again; this time Lyra took it. "You can tell him all about the journey-did I mention we're taking my Zeppelin?-and you can even send him a photogram if you like. What do you think?"

"Yeah..." said Lyra, watching the golden monkey's perfectly groomed fur shine in the light of the sun as he walked along-side his mistress. "...I suppose."

That evening, upstairs in Peter's dorm, Susan sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed with a deck of playing-cards set out in front of her. She was supposedly playing solitaire, but Edmund, sitting by the fire-place again, noticed that she hadn't done more than lightly flick a card or two with the tip of the nail of her middle finger once or twice for at least ten minutes.

"Thinking about mother and Lyra?" he asked finally, standing up and walking over to the corner of the bed, pressing one palm into the post closest to him.

"Yes," she admitted softly, her eyes distant and unreadable.

"I don't think she'll hurt her." Edmund said after another long pause.

"Why not?" Susan said rather venomously, her expression remaining blank though her mouth curled up into something like a sneer. "She gave you that black eye-I know it, so don't bother lying."

"Fine, I wont, I'm too tired to try."

"And she drugged you." Susan pulled her knees to her chest; a card fell away from it's row and landed-unnoticed-on the floor.

"If I harp on that, I'll never be able to forgive her, Susan."

"Why should you? Why should _we_?"

"Because she's our mother and therefore one half of what makes us who we are." He looked so much older as he spoke, with one dark lock of his hair sticking in the form of what was almost a curl to his forehead, and his eyes hardly those of the child-brother she'd always known and loved, that she very nearly wanted to cry for him. But a surge of anger held back any tears that formed fenced in between her eyelids.

"As children maybe we _are_ a reflection of our parents, but we should be allowed to change that image into whatever we want it to be-it's time we started doing that. I know what I want now, and it isn't to be _her_." she said, her tone even more bitter than might have been expected.

"I know, it's just, I never forgave father for what he did; knowing that he died trying to murder an infant." Edmund explained softly, pulling away from the post and reaching for his sister's hand. "I guess all this time I've just been wanting one parent I didn't always hate-one half of myself I didn't loathe."

"Edmund, you are not our father and I am not our mother, we are who we are-do you understand?"

"Yes, but you don't know how long its taken me to." he whispered, shaking his head as she gently pulled him down onto the bed beside her so that they were eye-to-eye.

"Edmund, you don't know this but mother called me something-something that hurt so badly you can't even imagine, and I don't think I could ever forgive her for it, especially knowing she's taken away Lyra on top of everything." The tears freed themselves and rolled down her cheeks like rain.

He reached up and gently wiped his sister's eyes dry with the side of his sleeve. "Su, I know what she said, what she called you."

"But how?"

"I thought it was a dream," he told her, edging closer and putting his arm around her shoulders. "I didn't know it was real until I woke up and realized that it must have been." Shutting his eyes, he winced, then slowly, he opened them again. "I was asleep-I didn't know where I was-but I _heard_ everything."

"He does love me, Edmund." Susan assured him, feeling a shiver run the wrong way up her spine, making it tingle unpleasantly at the memory. "I'm not Peter's...well, what she said."

"Yes, I know," said Edmund as his nose curled up in disgust involuntarily. "if she wasn't our mother-and if I'd been fully conscious at the time-I would have smacked her for calling you that."

"You might have," Susan said demurely. "but then again, you might not have-you've never been violent."

"No, but I have always been plagued by a conscience that constantly reminds me when something is unjust."

"Anyone can guess that-just by your dæmon, an owl does give that much away." She smiled at Ella as she said this. "Along with your over-bearing sense of wisdom you're too young for."

"And what can I make of your Maugrim?" Edmund teased her.

Maugrim growled at that; Susan giggled faintly, letting the joke simmer in the air for a few moments before they turned back to serious things.

"Ed, I need to tell you something," Susan informed him, swallowing hard, wondering how he would take this. "it's about Lucy."

"Is she all right?" his first concern voiced itself automatically, unwarranted, yet completely expected somehow.

Susan smiled reassuringly and nodded. "Yes, she's fine, but I think you should know...she isn't really Peter's sister."

"She's not?" His brows furrowed.

"Do you remember how when father went to kill the baby mother had with Asriel there was supposedly another baby there, too, who's life was also threatened?"

"Not really." said Edmund, not seeing what she was getting at. "Was it something mentioned when the wrongful-death lawsuit came up for the first time all those years ago?"

"Yes, I guess you wouldn't remember, you were little."

"Why are you bringing this up?"

"Because I think-actually I'm pretty sure-that Lucy was the other baby, Lyra being the first one."

"Oh god." Edmund's mouth suddenly tasted like melted copper shillings.

"I'm sorry, Edmund." she said, releasing her knees and letting her brother put his head on her lap-something he hadn't done since he was a child of about six or seven, but he needed the comfort at the moment.

The gesture was reassuring to Susan who had not had the familiarity of comforting her younger brother for such a long time. The last time they had been together, it was Edmund who'd had to do all of the saving and comforting, it was Susan who was upset and at a lost, but now the tables had turned into something a little easier for her. She was the strong one now.

"Susan?" His voice was faint, sad, but also filled with gratitude at the same time.

"Hmm?" was her reply as she glanced down at the fire-light landing on the pale, dark-haired head resting on her thighs, placing a gentle, rather motherly hand down on his slightly-moist brow, wiping away a small bead of sweat.

"I'm glad you told me," he said finally. "That you didn't try to hide it thinking it would hurt me too much if I knew."

"I thought about not telling you-I wasn't going to-but somehow I just..." Susan swallowed a round, hard lump forming in the centre of the lower part of her throat. "...I just knew you needed to know."

"Do you think I should tell Lucy?"

"No, I don't."

"Maybe you're right."

"Hey," her tone changed to a more melancholy one. "you know father wasn't _all_ bad, right?"

"I wish I did." Edmund said honestly, never having really had anything good to cling onto about the man.

"He had a bad end...but...I always liked him...before that..." She sounded almost like she might cry.

"What was he like?" Edmund twisted his head half-way so that he could catch a glimpse of the expression on his sister's face out of the corner of one eye.

"You don't remember?"

"No, not really." He turned his head back the way it was before.

Susan smiled to herself, remembering. "He liked you a lot, you know."

"I didn't."

"Didn't what?" her brow crinkled and she paused, clearly a bit confused at his response.

"I didn't know that."

"Mother never told you about it, then?"

"Why would she?" He didn't say this bitterly, only in a very matter-a-fact sort of way.

"I was actually a little jealous of you back then because I felt that he always thought I was mother's and you were his, more than us all being one family-I wanted attention, too."

"I'm sorry," Edmund said, though he wasn't entirely sure what he was apologizing for.

"Don't be," Susan laughed at herself. "it had nothing to do with you personally."

"Nothing?"

"Well, not on my end, I mean."

Edmund chuckled at that. Then, "You know, I don't actually remember the evening he left to go to Lord Asriel's house."

Susan was glad enough of that; she remembered and she hated thinking about it. The sound of her mother crying; something glass-probably a vase of sorts-breaking; swearing on her father's part; and the cold, heartless, furious slam of the door that echoed in her young ears for weeks afterwards.

"I do remember the day after, though." Edmund added in a low, nearly inaudible tone.

This surprised her. "Really?" Clearly she was having her doubts as to whether or not he truly remembered or if he only _thought_ he did, being too young to remember for real.

"You were sitting on the sofa with a picture dictionary, but you were still on the title-page by the time one in the afternoon rolled around, and you'd been sitting there since nine. And Maugrim-in the form of brown dog-was curled up at your side with his eyes closed, but he wasn't really sleeping."

That actually was what happened, almost exactly as Susan herself remembered it-only this version was seen with Edmund's eyes and not her own.

"I remember that around suppertime you wanted to see our mother but the servants wouldn't let you."

"I'm sorry I didn't talk to you for a week after that-if you remember those days, too." Susan had never thought of apologizing for this, figuring he didn't even remember, but now, she felt she owed him at least that much.

"I don't remember that part clearly, only a little." Edmund told her, blinking his eyes for no apparent reason. "Tell me, it was because I looked like our father even then, wasn't it?"

Susan felt a bit ashamed, but she pulled herself together and admitted it was the reason. Maugrim nudged Ella with a paw as if asking for her forgiveness, too.

After a little while, they fell asleep like that; Susan leaning her back against the bed post and Edmund's head still in her lap. Coming in and finding them about a half hour later, Peter smiled and pulled a blanket over Susan's shoulders, planting a quick kiss on her hairline. Actually daring to reach down and stroke Maugrim's ears as if it were as natural and safe as petting Doe, Peter turned to leave. He figured he might sleep with Lucy and keep her company-she must have been feeling lonesome being without Lyra for the first time in over four years.

In her room, listening to the rain which was just starting to fall lightly outside in the cool night air, tapping softly at the windowpane in a steady half-sound like a whispered lullaby, Lucy buried her head under her sheets-covered up to her nose, and stared up at the little pool of moonlight reflected on the ceiling off of the mirror at the other end of the room. Reepicheep was in the form of a small bandicoot, sleeping-or trying to sleep-on her pillow, feeling just as lost and anxious as his human did.

Both wondered what Lyra was doing just then at that very moment, and how Mrs. Coulter was treating her. Was she being kind? Or had her true nature come to light already? How far north would they go together? And without Lyra's help, how would Lucy and Reep ever figure out where Billy and Roger might be? In truth, Lucy thought-not without a horrified shiver-that if her guess as to who might have taken them was correct, they might be in Bolvangar-or else on their way there. Still, wasn't there some hope that that wasn't really the case? That this was a different sort of kidnapping, one less permanent? Or that the two boys had merely gotten themselves lost and would be back soon enough?

Lucy could feel tears siding down her face onto her pillow, but somehow she barely even noticed that she was crying; the wet drops felt just as external as the rain which was falling a bit heavier now outside, rattling the window's frame.

The door opened and Peter let himself in. Finding his sister crying (for of course he knew at once that was what she was doing) he climbed onto the other side of the bed and put his arm around her without a word. Comforted, Lucy pulled herself closer to him and, reaching up, grabbed onto Reepicheep's tail, clinging to it with one hand. Between her dæmon and her brother, nothing could touch her, nothing could hurt her. For as long as the three of them might rest there pressed up against one another, they were all perfectly safe. Sleep came gently now, like the hand of a friendly sandman placing his magical sand over tired eyelids, and hours ticked by, letting late night and midnight and the earliest hours of the morning arrive unannounced and quietly, the way they were always meant to come.

Strange, vague dreams of a Lion roaming about an empty land surrounded by a sort of grainy light which wasn't really light filled Lucy's mind in and out like a faded photogram until her eyes suddenly shot open of their own accord and she found she was back in her room, still sandwiched between Peter and Reepicheep. Something wrapped loudly at the window, but it was too intense and hard to be even the strongest bouts of wind and rain. Besides, most of the rain had let up a few hours back, it was pretty much only drizzle now-and drizzle couldn't make a sound like that.

Pulling herself out from under her brother's arm, and waking Reepicheep who shifted into a mouse with a golden band and red feather, Lucy stood up. She quickly threw on her dressing gown and cantered over to the window-latch; she figured that if anything went amiss, Peter was right there anyway. The moonlight and whatever reflective objects were in the room showed the face of a boy younger than Peter, younger than Edmund, even, but a just a bit older than herself-perhaps six months or a year or so. This boy was standing on the roof, looking tired and nervous, desperately trying to get her attention. His hair was golden, his eyes blue, and his skin-colour fair, white. For clothing, he seemed to be wearing something Gyptian-looking, but he did not appear to be a Gyptian himself.

"Lucy!" He exclaimed when the latch was finally opened.

"Who are you?" she asked, Reepicheep drawing his little sword just in case. "How do you know my name?"

"I'm a friend of the Gyptians," he said quickly. "My name's Shasta."

"What are you doing here?"

"I've come to warn you and your brother..." he spoke breathlessly now. "...Lord Rabadash has gathered up an army's worth of noblemen of his race to come down here, steal away the Lady Susan, and kill her husband and brother-I doubt they mean to spare you, either."

Lucy's eyes widened and Reepicheep shifted into a hawk, flying to his human's shoulder.

"I know all of this because he was betrayed by a niece, the Lady Aravis, who would have come herself, but she was wounded-a wild animal tore her back up pretty bad, and so only I could go and tell the Gyptians who employ my twin brother as a sort of cabin-boy of Lord Rabadash's plans."

"But what are we going to do?" Lucy wondered aloud, looking back towards the bed at Peter who was still asleep.

"Wake him up at once;" ordered Shasta shortly, but not unkindly. "A fleet of the Gyptians owned by Ma Costa and Farder Coram have agreed to hide the four of you-but you must hurry. Tell Peter to gather up his wife and brother-in-law as quickly as he can and then to sneak down to the bay where the Gyptian boats dock-from there, someone will be waiting to help you."

"Where will you go?" asked Lucy, feeling a little brave in spite of everything.

"I must go back to the inn where Lady Aravis is resting as soon as possible; I didn't have enough money to pay the staying fee for more than a week or two at most." Shasta explained, getting ready to leave the roof-tops now that he had warned Lucy of the coming danger. "Besides, if Lord Rabadash finds out where she is, he will probably try to have her captured and killed as a traitor."

"Then you should go," said Lucy with a firm nod. "I'll wake Peter and tell him."

"Good, but remember," Shasta gave one final warning before he vanished into the darkness of the early hour. "you must hurry, Lucy, Rabadash means to attack by dawn."

"What about the rest of the scholars?" Reepicheep worried, ruffling his dark feathers nervously. "Will Rabadash harm them?"

"I don't think so-he means only to disarm and bind everyone, killing only the three of you, taking Lady Susan, and then fleeing like the coward he is." Shasta called over his shoulder.

"He's gone, Reep." said Lucy as soon as she could no longer see the boy's retreating back. "Come on, let's wake Peter before it's too late."


	39. cord grass, alethiometers, strawberries

Creeping through the long hallways with nothing but the pale slivers of moonbeams the colour of skim-milk slipping down from some of the wider skylights-of which there were very few-to guide them, Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy made their way to downstairs side-door. Reepicheep was in the form of a white rat with a black-tipped tail and gray whiskers; he rode on his human's left shoulder. Ella flew just a few feet ahead of everyone, to take a peek around each corner first, acting as a sort of look out. Down near Susan's legs, Maugrim would have looked the most alarming of all their dæmons, his fur all stood up sharply and his eyes-well, anyone would have sworn they were _glowing_ in the darkness.

Doe, the fake-dæmon, did not look half so impressive, she looked like a kitty sulking. And in fact, she was a sullen cat at the moment, for Edmund had ended up being the one carrying her in one arm, a book about alethiometers that his sister had found in Norroway tucked under the other. Doe didn't like anyone except Peter picking her up and carrying her about, but she was too tired to fight and she sensed a sort of awkward tension in the group though she couldn't for the life of her figure out its source.

Lucy carried only a red-wool cape she had managed to grab before leaving, a change of clothes Peter had taken out of the draws for her just in case, and the silver pocket watch which she stored in her old leather pouch (Edmund, having had it during the past four years since he'd stolen it back at Bolvangar, had given it back to her).

Susan, clinging tightly to Peter's hand, carried a satchel containing a tinderbox, a few matches, six bread-rolls, three biscuits, and a slim wedge of hard southern cheese over her shoulder, and the cloak Edmund had given her when she had first run away from Lord Rabadash over her arm.

"Reepicheep," Lucy whispered in a low voice, so soft only her dæmon could possibly hear it. "did Shasta have a dæmon? I couldn't see one, and I thought, for a moment, that he might be like Peter-a person who doesn't have one but somehow isn't a half-person, either."

"No," said Reepicheep, leaping from her shoulder and shifting into a firefly for a moment, casting a small golden light that made one think instantly of willow-the-wisps. "We couldn't see the dæmon because it was dark and she was on the roof; but she was there. She was there the whole time, I could sense her presence."

"Oh." said Lucy, her curiosity satisfied and a bit of apprehension returning to her. Supposing they did not make it out before the first rays of the dawn?

Or what if Rabadash decided to strike early? Then it would all be for naught; they would be killed and Susan would be the dark-faced Lordship's wife, or more likely, because she had now been with another man, simply his mistress-or slave.

Of course, Lucy didn't fully comprehend the situation to that degree, not like the other three did, but she understood the urgency all the same and kept her feet moving as vigorously as possible, wondering when the hallways had gotten so _long_.

The feel of misty night-air hitting her face in small droplets of moisture came suddenly and Lucy knew they were out-of-doors at last. Reepicheep, no longer a firefly, scurried about in the form of a tawny dog the size of a very large rat, rushing ahead a few feet below where Ella was flying, right into the first acres of tall grass. Dew as cold as ice dampened many ankles as they passed through countless, ever-taller, rows of grass that-in the absence of sunlight-were a dull, hideous brown-gray colour instead of their usual yellow-green.

A panting sound startled Peter and made him stop right in his tracks, turning around, following the arm attached to the hand he was holding, he saw it was Susan, attempting to catch her breath. She was tired from their pace, their haste, and with the exception of escaping her marriage to Rabadash and making her way down to Norroway and then Jordan College, had never been called upon to do anything like this. Born a high-lady, she never could get used to the full sensation of running away.

"Come on," Peter said gently, giving her wrist an understanding-but firm-tug. "it wont be much further."

"What's the point?" Susan grumbled under her breath. "He'll just find us all over again." Maugrim, though his eyes still shone brightly, looked worn, his fur slowly settling back down, parts of it looking rather matted and coated with a cold sweat.

Annoyed, Peter opened his mouth to say something that was probably unpleasant and would have offended her greatly, but he happened to glance at Edmund first and caught a look he understood very well-the look of a brother's sympathy. It wasn't really Susan's fault her former betrothed was obsessed with getting her back, so he bit his lip and gave her wrist another tug until she started moving again. At first her movements were slow, like she was walking to her own death, but after a while she returned to her senses and started moving briskly again.

Unfortunately, her brisk-walking led her to twist one leg the wrong way as the four of them-five if you counted Doe-made a sharp turn. To avoid twisting her ankle, one side of her leg collided with an unseen patch of sharp cord-grass so strong it sliced right through the skirt of the dress she was wearing and gave her a nasty-looking cut on the left side of her calf.

Gasping, she clutched the wound and sank to her knees in the middle of the field, bringing Peter down with her. Maugrim let out a sharp howling sort of cry, feeling his human's pain just as intently as she herself felt it.

"Susan, what happened?" Peter hadn't been able to get a good view of her leg yet.

"I cut my leg on the cord-grass," she told him, grimacing as she shifted her body weight onto the other leg, attempting-and failing-to get up. "it's just a little nick, I think I can still walk."

"You're bleeding." said Peter, noticing the blackish stuff dripping down from his wife's limb-he was pretty sure it would have been red in daylight. "You can't even get up."

She closed her eyes tightly. "I'm sorry."

Quickly, Peter tore off a piece of his shirt and wrapped it around her injury like a bandage. "That'll have to do for now...until we can get that taken care of properly...just lean on me so you don't have to put any pressure on it, okay?"

Susan winced and nodded; Maugrim took a step forward-no one missed the unfortunate fact that he limped while doing it.

"The sun is coming up." Edmund noticed shakily, his tone greatly strained.

"They wouldn't look for us here, would they?" Lucy asked, wrapping her fingers around the worn leather of her pouch as if to comfort herself.

"We can't take any chances." Edmund told her as Peter half-carried Susan along, having to slow down every three seconds and wait up for Maugrim.

"This is really bad," Lucy noted, swallowing hard.

"We just have to keep going," Edmund groaned. Doe, cranky as ever, turned her head to look up at him and let out a disdainful meow as if to ask him how dare he carry her all this way through the cold air and not even offer a treat or a mention of breakfast.

"Stay right where you are!" four dark-faced men who looked like Rabadash other than the dramatically less handsome features about their builds and faces came out of the tall, non-sharp corners of the grass and pointed spears at them.

This was hardly an army's worth, so they all understood at once that these were only Lord Rabadash's less stilled lackeys, probably only look-outs of a sort. They had unexpressive black eyes as dull as the bottom of a river bed, and three of them were slightly slack-jawed. The tallest, least bland-looking one kept his jaw stern and his gaze firm. Something about the fellow warranted a kind of respect, a sense of duty and goodness in him, and strangely enough, from the moment Lucy got a decent look at the chap, she liked him in spite of who he obviously was working for.

"Leave us alone!" Edmund shouted at them. "Be gone with you!" Ella made a low-swoop towards their dæmons (three of them were coon-dogs with yellow fur, the one belonging to the man Lucy had noticed a difference in and liked was a strikingly beautiful lynx), threatening them.

The lynx growled at Ella. Ella snapped her beak near the lynx, another warning. A paw shot out; Ella's claw scratched against the side of the Lynx's nose, leaving a visible blood-mark. One of the yellow coon dogs sprang out unexpectedly and latched onto one of Maugrim's legs. Susan screamed; and Peter kicked at the dog, trying to get it away from Maugrim. A spear flashed and suddenly one of the men had Susan by both arms. She would have kicked him, but her good leg was guarded by his coon dog, and the leg she'd cut in the cord grass was throbbing painfully. Edmund used the book in his hand to strike the man closest to him across the face; startled, he dropped his spear.

An arrow came zipping by seemingly out of no where and ended up in the side of the man holding Susan's arms. Another arrow finished him off, and his dead hands released her. She gasped and Maugrim panted; Peter ran over and put his arms around her protectively. Doe, who was on the ground now, hissed at a passing bug and licked her paws in an agitated manner, watching all of this, waiting eagerly for it to be over.

"Peter!" Lucy squealed as the man Edmund had just hit with the alethiometer book took a step closer to her. An arrow struck him in the back and he fell down dead. His dæmon burst into dusty-gold and went out like a light.

The other man with the coon dog was already dead by the time another arrow flew towards the one with the lynx. He fell to the ground but he didn't die, his dæmon groaned and he rested, laid out and grasping for each shallow breath he took.

Two Gyptian men, one old and one young, came out of hiding holding crossbows, their eyes blood-shot and screwed up. Their dæmons were a tabby and a sea-gull.

"Farder Coram! Caspian!" Lucy cried out, recognizing them at once.

Farder Coram smiled at her in greeting, however, his attention was quickly drawn to the man with the lynx dæmon. "You down there, who are you?"

"My name is Master Emeth," the man croaked, his voice raspy and weak. "my dæmon answers to Emma."

"The arrow missed your heart." Farder Coram informed him. "You might still live."

"Let me go in peace...don't torture me before you finish me off, please, I beg of you-you indeed, as a Gyptian gentleman, to spare me that last humiliation, let the sun be bright in my eyes once more as my end comes." His eyes opened and closed rapidly as he spoke, half-mad, yet sounding as sane as he ever was.

"You have appealed to the Gyptians and by the Gyptians we shall not humiliate you, but you must serve us from now on-if you should survive, if you live." Farder Coram warned him.

"Yes," gasped Emeth, his lips attempting to curl up into a smile. "with a good will, old father. I am your servant."

"Caspian," ordered Farder Coram. "help me carry this man, the others will follow us."

And so, they all made their way down to the place by the water where a woman-Ma Costa-stood on a rickety wooden deck, holding a lantern that was moments away from being rendered useless in the light of the rising sun. Making haste, she beckoned to them and, upon getting a closer look at them, called for the healers of the Gyptians tribes present at the time to come and look at Susan's leg and to assist the dying dark-skinned man.

Hours later, Edmund and Lucy were safely below-deck on a Gyptian ship, though which one it actually was, they couldn't say for sure having been ushered down there so hastily after Susan's leg (which turned out not to be too badly injured after all and would heal quickly if looked after carefully for a day or two) was bandaged and Emeth and Emma were taken care of. After getting a little sleep, the two of them lit an oil lantern in their cabin and carefully poured over the alethiometer book. Less than half-way through it, they made a startling discovery: a picture of a silver object that looked exactly like Lucy's pocket watch.

"Look, Lu!" said Edmund breathlessly, unable to hide his excitement as he tapped his finger against the picture for emphasis. "it's just like yours-down to the carvings and letters...it's a perfect match!"

"What does it say?" Lucy leaned closer to him and curled her fingers around the pocket watch, holding it tightly in her hands.

"It _is_ an alethiometer!" Edmund gasped, nearly laughing with delighted surprise at discovering his original guess was correct. "According to this, before the objects known as alethiometers were made, a northern-bred royalty of sorts, created something almost exactly like it only they made theirs from a queer mix of silver and sky-iron which they scraped off the corpses of fallen, burnt-out stars. Their symbols are different, letters rather than pictures, no one alive today has any idea of how to read it-but it's an alethiometer all the same. It shows the way-the truth."

"What makes the needle move?" Lucy asked next.

Edmund winced and tightened his grip on the book. "Dust."

"I wish the book could tell us what Dust _is_." Reepicheep exclaimed, glancing over at Ella who looked uncomfortable as her human said the D word, like she was just waiting for a lightning bolt to come and strike them down for it.

"The Ruling Powers fear it," Edmund sighed, not sure how to feel about Dust now that his world had been turned around so drastically. "they mean to destroy it."

Lucy had an idea. "We could stop them."

"Are you mad?" Edmund's tone grew curt and angry. "Fight the Ruling Powers? Stop them from getting rid of Dust? No one can do that! No one should even try!"

"Well, _I'm_ going to." the words slipped out of Lucy's mouth before she even knew she was saying them.

Edmund reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders. "You wont, Lucy! You don't realize what you're saying! The Ruling Powers have been in charge for a long, long time, they're too strong-maybe there's a reason for that."

Reepicheep shifted into a terrier, jumped up, and bit Edmund on the arm, not hard, just enough to make him let go of Lucy's shoulders. Once free, Lucy glowered at him, despising his cowardice.

"They tried to poison a man just because he wanted to know about other worlds and Dust." She argued pointedly, flipping a few pages in the book until she came to the picture of the Lion. "Why should they be allowed to act like that?"

Edmund's dark brows came together and he reached over, slamming the book shut. "Because they're in charge."

"Why?" demanded Lucy.

"They just _are_." he growled tersely.

"We're going to have to pick sides, Edmund." Lucy whispered, her eyes moist. "I hope at the end of this, we're both on the same one."

"I have no side." said Edmund. "I am nobody."

"What do you mean?" her expression softened and she blinked at him in confusion.

"My mother has no use for me anymore, so she left me at Jordan, even in forgiving her for all she's done, I can no longer call myself her son. So I am not Edmund Coulter. My father was also Edmund Coulter, but since I'm not anymore, I can't call myself his son-and, quite frankly, I don't really want to." Edmund rambled, taking his hand off the book he had been holding shut up until that point. "The Ruling Powers might have expected me to grow up to be somebody they could use, like they use my mother, but I didn't. So I am not theirs. But I don't believe that Dust is good, necessarily, either, so how can I be on _that_ side?"

"So you don't believe in anything anymore?" Lucy placed the book down on the nearest bunk and turned her full attention to Edmund.

"I believe that whatever's going on, whomever is behind it, it has nothing to do with me."

"What about the Lion?"

"The one in the book?"

"Yes."

"I don't think he's real, either, whatever he's supposed to stand for."

Lucy looked hurt. "That's just it, I do believe in him."

"Lucy," Edmund reached for both of her hands, cradling them in his own. "I've seen what the Ruling Powers can do; they can cut a person from their dæmon; they can make a person lose the will to live; I don't want to fight them."

"You can't live your life in fear." Reepicheep told him, shifting into an orange butterfly and landing on his shoulder, ignoring the general contact taboo once again.

"A live dog is better off than a dead wolf," Edmund said softly. "I don't want to die fighting for something unless I'm convinced its right-that it needs to be done."

Without thinking, enjoying the feel of his hands still holding hers, Lucy leaned forward and kissed his cheek. She watched his face turn red and his dæmon squirm on her perch uncomfortably.

A live dog may have been better off than a dead wolf, but as he stared at the girl sitting across from him, the one who had enough faith for them both, the one who never did give up hope, Edmund knew one thing for sure. He wouldn't fight for Dust without being convinced of it's goodness, but he'd fight for her, for Lucy Pevensie, in a heartbeat. He was already more than convinced of _her_ goodness.

Both a little shaky and embarrassed, they searched for something else to busy themselves with and finally let their eyes rest on a bowl of strawberries the Gyptians had put out for them. Lucy took one and brought it to her lips, ate it, then took another; they were juicy and pump, leaving the faintest traces of a stain around the side of her mouth. Edmund had some, too, and relaxed in their flavor, feeling refreshed. Between them, all the strawberries were soon gone and all that was left was an empty bowl, sticky fingers, and sticky lips.

They glanced shyly at one another, and without knowing why, started laughing wildly and shaking their heads. A calm returned to them, silence fell, and the next thing they knew, they were closer together. Edmund leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers; their sticky mouths made contact for a moment and breaths were caught in the back of throats.

"I..." Edmund stammered, pulling away, feeling strangely dizzy.

Lucy felt different, older somehow, and she sensed a strange discomfort from Reepicheep's end.

Later, he would explain it, telling her that something very strange had happened when Edmund had kissed her. He-Reepicheep-had found himself unable to change shape until they pulled away from each other.

"It was like being settled all of a sudden, I thought I was going to be stuck as a butterfly for ever." He shifted into a mouse while saying this, just to reassure himself.

Lucy had marveled over this with a mix of a pleasure meant for an older version of herself and a horror left with the well-passed younger version of herself. One day, Reepicheep would settle into a final form, one day she would be grown up; and one day, she might even be in love with the boy who'd just given her her first kiss.


	40. Saving Lyra

"How are you holding up?" Peter leaned on the wooden, slightly lopsided, entryway leading into the cabin where Susan had been put to rest after having her leg-cut cleaned and bound properly.

"Alright," Susan answered coyly, looking over at him with a rather flirtatious glance.

"That's good." he said, grinning, ignoring the bland, gagging sound Maugrim was making-having already gotten more than used to the wolf's dry humour.

Cocking her head to one side and widening her eyes, Susan added, "Maybe I would feel even better if you came and sat on the bunk beside me."

"If you absolutely _insist_." He arched a brow at her and slowly walked over to the bunk, curling up beside her, careful not to bump into her leg-wound.

Sighing with exaggerated depth, Susan pulled herself up and put her head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around the middle of her back. "That's better."

"Well, you know I would give you anything if I thought it would help." Peter murmured, resting his head on her hairline.

"Hmm, anything?" Susan's brows went up at that.

"Yes, name it, what do you want? It's yours."

Giggling faintly, she batted her eyes. "Well, I don't know..."

"Just name anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything." he confirmed.

"Very well, then." Susan pretended to think it over, faking-mulling, enjoying herself a bit too much. "How about...um...your shoes?"

"My _shoes_?" he echoed, laughing so hard he could just barely cough out the words.

"You heard me," said Susan, smirking impishly. "I want your shoes."

"Fine," he let go of her for a moment, bent over, and took them off, handing them to her. "Will that be all?"

"No..." Susan shook her head, tossing the shoes aside. "...you said _anything_..."

"That's true." Peter replied. "What else of mine do you want?"

"Do you have a sword?" Susan teased, reaching up and stroking the side of his cheek.

"I could probably get one from the Gyptians." said Peter, only half-joking.

"Can I have it?"

"It's yours." He didn't bother asking what on earth she wanted a sword for; he knew-and liked-this game too well for that.

"So now I have your shoes and your sword..." she pondered aloud.

"I suppose that's enough to make you feel better?" Peter asked, his grin widening just a very little bit at its corners.

"No," sighed Susan, pretending to look forlorn. "I still want one thing of yours I don't have."

He leaned in and kissed her lips. "What ever is it?"

Tugging at his brown tunic and loose, billowy under-shift playfully, she sighed, "Your clothes."

"Oh, very subtle, Susan." Maugrim growled, lifting up his head and sneering at them, cranky from lack of sleep.

"Maugrim, wall!" Susan scolded her dæmon, pointing over to the other side of the cabin.

"Humph!" the wolf let out a grunt of displeasure and lowered his head back down onto his paws.

Ignoring Maugrim, Peter removed the tunic, pulling it off over his head, and handed it to Susan. "Better?"

Placing it down beside her gently, she reached up and started loosening the lighter-coloured thread-clasp at the chest of his under-shift. "Almost,"

Maugrim rolled his eyes and snorted again, though he still kept his gaze steadily on the wall.

"You are so beautiful, do you know that?" Peter whispered, leaning closer to her, their lips mere inches apart.

Tilting her head, she closed the gap between their mouths and kissed him lingeringly. When they finally pulled away, she whispered, "I love you."

"Ahem," a throat cleared in the entryway and they both let go of each other, startled.

"Oh, Farder Coram," Peter said, putting his hand to his heart as he recognized the old white-bearded man in the purplish-red trousers and dark-brown, black-feathered hat standing there. "it's you."

"Yes, I'm sorry if I was interrupting anything." he apologized, trying to choke back a chuckle and mask the twinkle in his eyes. "We Gyptians merely had some plans we need to discuss with the both of you."

"Yes, yes, of course..." Peter said quickly, his face turning quite red as he haphazardly tossed the brown tunic back over his upper body. "...whose cabin is the meeting to be held in?"

"Ma Costa has graciously allowed us to use her quarters for our planning provided we gather there within the next twenty minutes or so." Farder Coram explained.

Once Peter, Susan (Peter had to help her down the narrow passageways of the boat and then to her seat, but she was still able to attend the meeting), Edmund, and Lucy were seated around a small, rough, oak-wood, three-legged table in the center of Ma Costa's cabin, Farder Coram, Caspian, and a few other Gyptian men explained a plan they had been coming up with over the last couple of days.

First, they announced that they had discovered where Lyra was. She wasn't far in the north yet, rather, she was simply living at the same grand house Susan had fled from to escape her engagement to Lord Rabadash, being catered to by the same servants-including Trumpkin-who had once served Edmund.

"From our spy reports, we've gathered that Mrs. Coulter tells Lyra that they are getting ready to go north and then keeps her busy with this or that task making it seem like something that would need to be done to get them ready to go up into the colder regions, and then does nothing about it." said Caspian, shaking his head in frustration.

"But why would she do that?" Lucy asked, Reepicheep bobbing his head up and down, perched on her shoulder in the form of a parakeet.

"Think about it, Lu," answered Peter, gritting his teeth somewhat while he spoke, unable to help feeling completely furious every time he thought of Mrs. Coulter. "she's just playing with her; of course she doesn't _really_ mean to take the only child she has left in her possession to the north."

"She's making a pet out of her," said Susan grimly.

"She's probably afraid that if she takes Lyra north towards Bolvangar, another boy with no dæmon will show up and fall hopelessly in love with her." Maugrim joked dryly, resulting in a light smack on the nose from his mistress.

"At any rate, the woman is unknowingly giving us an advantage." Farder Coram said very seriously. "We can follow the child and remain in her shadow, so to speak, for a while-if anything should happen to her, should any situation go amiss, there's a good chance we'll be in a position to help her."

"That is what we propose," Caspian continued, placing his hands down on the table and resting the whole weight of his upper torso on it as he spoke, nearly giving himself a splinter in one wrist. "that we steal into that area secretly and watch over her."

"I think it's a good idea." Susan agreed, her voice soft, distant, worried. Maugrim's ears were flat down and his eyes were lackluster with his human's worry over her half-sister's fate. "Protection is never amiss."

"Who should be sent out?" Farder Coram pondered aloud, his dæmon humming contemplatively in between her human's partially mumbled words.

"I will go," said Caspian. "Peter and Edmund could come along."

"Very good," Farder Coram nodded. "However, I dislike the thought of the three of you going on your own-still, the question is: would sending a large crowd arouse suspicion?"

"Whether it does or does not, does it matter? Our ship will be ported in the docks, an instant safe-haven in case of an emergency." a Gyptian who's name Peter and Lucy did not catch chimed in helpfully.

While Farder Coram had no arguments on that matter, he still had his worries all the same. "I dislike sending three boys out alone, only one of them a half-way decent archer."

"Susan can shoot." Edmund pointed out quickly, casting a quick glance over at his elder sister. "Ask anyone you like." Ella bobbed her head in agreement.

Maugrim looked down modestly; Susan gave the Gyptians who were suddenly staring at her a shy, low-eyed, half-smile. What her brother had just said was true, but she wasn't sure if he actually needed to say it.

"I dare say she would have been a great help to us, if only she had not cut her leg on the cord grass." Farder Coram would not allow an injured noblewoman to join a dangerous mission, no matter how dire the circumstances might be.

"What about Ma Costa?" suggested Lucy; she wasn't sure if the woman was a decent archer, but she was well-aware of her toughness and bravery.

"Ma Costa, if she will agree to it-and I have no doubts that she will, after all, she adores little Lyra-shall join your group." said Farder Coram. "All the same, I think we should send out two of our best middle-aged archers, and a favored servant, along with you as well."

"Which servant?" asked Peter, curious.

"I would suggest Emeth, the man is loyal, and though he's injured, if he can possibly be made to walk at all, his company and keen wisdom would not be misplaced."

"Farder Coram!" Gasped Caspian, pulling away from the table and gaping at the elderly Gyptian. "Are you mad? It is not only a matter of his injury-which, if you would excuse me for bringing this up, is far worse than Susan's-but also a point of honour. The man worked for Lord Rabadash; he is our servant now but to send him out so soon makes me terribly uncomfortable."

Farder Coram patiently waited for Caspian to finish his borderline rant of dismay before quietly pointing out that Emeth, while certainly badly hurt, would not be in a great deal of danger going with them as he would not be called upon to fight should something go wrong. "At most, the dark-faced lad would do little more than hand a man an arrow or two. Surely, if he can sit up and walk a few paces all right, he can manage that."

"How do we know we can trust him?" Edmund blurted out, understanding Caspian's fear over the matter. After all, he had seen how desperate the Lord Rabadash was to acquire his sister as his wife, and had been afraid then as well. Trusting one of the dark lordship's men was not exactly an easy thing to ask.

Farder Coram closed his eyes briefly, opened them again, and smiled reassuringly. "We can trust him-he will not bring us harm."

After that, there were a few days of hard, speedy sailing to take them into the ports of the closest bay to where Mrs. Coulter lived. When they arrived, it was the twilight hour and, with Farder Coram's steady nod and muffled whisper, they knew it was time to begin putting their plan into action.

The two middle-aged Gyptian archers, good and generous, did not burden their weak, wounded servant, Emeth, with carrying their weapons-they carried their own quivers over their shoulders and their bows tightly between their firmest fingers. In the end, the man who had once worked for Lord Rabadash, carried little else but a small, half-filled water-skin. Once they were properly armed, the archers darkened their faces with soot and black ashes so as not to appear vividly in the dimly-lit corners of the alleyways they would be lurking in. Their dæmons, thankfully, were dark-coloured creatures in their settled forms by nature; one was a medium-sized black panther, and the other, a coffee-coloured sparrow.

Caspian had his dark-purple cloak (the one he had run away from his uncle in) to wear. Edmund was able to borrow a similar navy-blue cloak from one of Farder Coram's friends. As for Peter, Susan herself took out the cloak her brother had given her once, the thing that had given her so much comfort as she escaped from a terrible fate, and placed it over his shoulders, fastening the dull brass clasp around him.

"Be careful." she whispered, embracing him, clinging onto his body for a few moments before letting him go again. In her mind, she thought: be invisible. But as she did not really believe in magic cloaks-she hadn't before and she certainly didn't _now_ -the words did not reach her lips.

"I will be." Peter assured her, peering out through the hood as he pulled it over his head, staring at the woman he cared so deeply for, the one he still couldn't fully believe was his own wife. Of course he would be careful for her-he would do anything for her.

Watching Edmund preparing to leave, Lucy felt a strange urge to reach out and kiss him again-the way he had kissed her when they'd eaten those strawberries together-but she forced herself to hold off. It just didn't seem like the right time for it. Ella, perched on her human's shoulder, looked down at Reepicheep who was currently in his deer-mouse form, with an almost longing glance. It was a strange expression to see on an owl's face in regards to a mouse; it was not a look of desire to eat the small creature, it was entirely different from anything resembling that. It was the sort of look that is hard to describe unless it is seen, but is also somehow possible to imagine in the back of one's mind, even if it isn't.

Day after day, this little routine occurred; the archers, Caspian, Edmund, Peter, and Emeth (who's healing process was coming along quite nicely) would leave to spy on Mrs. Coulter's house. Often, they would see Lyra in the window-sometimes catching a glimpse of Pantalaimon as well. They looked reasonably safe, not upset or hungry, perhaps a little weary from all the events Mrs. Coulter took them to-but there were no signs of pain or abuse. For this, they were thankful, yet they remained ever-wary.

One evening after Lyra and Mrs. Coulter had returned from some party at a near-by lordship's home, Edmund, who had wandered closer to the large house than any of the others dared-after all, he had lived there once-saw something rather unexpected; the shadow of his mother's golden monkey in the window, holding a round object. The monkey seemed to be trying to tear the thing apart, but it was made of something strong, a gleaming metal, and he couldn't quite manage. There was the sound of a cry-Lyra's cry-followed by a swooping sound.

Evidently, Pantalaimon had shifted into a hawk and snatched the object right out of the golden monkey's grasp. He flew to the window which was slightly ajar to let in something of a cool breeze, and shouted, "Quick, Lyra, this way!"

Lyra opened the window the rest of the way and jumped out, slamming it down on the paws of the golden monkey as he came after her. For a split-second she stared through the closed window at the stricken face of Mrs. Coulter holding onto her now-throbbing hand and wincing, exclaiming, "Lyra!"

Moments later, she was on the move again, quickly colliding with Edmund. Thinking to help her run off in the right direction as opposed to letting her get herself lost and making all their pains to protect her for naught, he grabbed onto her waist. It was, unfortunately, the wrong thing for him to do; because Lyra didn't recognize him as the boy who had once played with her back at Jordan when she was very, very young, and elbowed him right in the gut.

Edmund was amazed at how quickly he found himself wanting to say, "It's alright, I'm your brother, I wont hurt you." and the moment of pensive hesitation that followed this thought gave her a chance to get away.

Peter, Caspian, Emeth, and the Gyptian archers were in the alleyway street just behind the house and quickly took off after her. Some other men, working for Mrs. Coulter, were sent out to look for the poor breathless, fast-footed child as well and it was soon little more than a race as to who would catch her first.

Lyra made quite a clever display of running fast and squeezing herself in-between numerous dustbins, out-door stairwells, and dark corners. In fact, she and her dæmon made it all the way down to the dark side of the port near the bay, where the air rank of fish-guts and salty water.

One of the more mentally-endowed men working for Mrs. Coulter stole a fisherman's net and flung it over her. She gasped, frightened and trapped, collapsed to her knees and fretfully pushed at the net's ropes. Pantalaimon tried to gnaw through them (using various sharp-toothed forms) but to no avail.

Luckily, as soon as the men came forward to grab Lyra, the Gyptian archers nailed them-their dæmons burst into shimmering golden-coloured dust, swirled for a moment, settled, and then went out. The men were dead; they would not be returning to their ladyship to inform her of what had just happened, nor would they be taking her child anywhere at all.

Stepping forward, the archers pulled out engraved knives they had on their persons and cut the net open, releasing Lyra. Before she could run off again, Caspian latched onto the side of her arm and held her firmly in place.

"Gyptians," said Lyra, swallowing hard as she glared at the darkened faces of the archers as they stood before her, putting their weapons away to show her they meant no harm.

"Lyra," Peter took off the hood of his cloak.

"P-Peter?" she sputtered out in surprise.

"Don't fret none, Lyra." said a woman's voice; Ma Costa came down from the ship's deck onto the land, having seen the whole struggle take place and wanting to comfort the child.

In less than a minute, Ma Costa's warm arms were wrapped around her. "You're Ma Costa, Billy's mum."

"Yes, we've been keeping an eye on you, making sure you didn't come to no harm."

"Oh, god," Lyra was so relieved that she started sobbing involuntarily. "we're safe, Pan."

"What happened?" Peter asked Lyra, taking a step towards her as Ma Costa released her face. "Did Mrs. Coulter hurt you?"

She nodded and jumped as Edmund came behind her, taking off his cloak and putting it over her shivering shoulders. Some Gyptians she did not know came off the boat and placed a warm mug of something warm that smelled like strong coffee in her hands.

"Come, let's get the child hidden," Ma Costa said as they took a hold of the girl and carefully led her over to the ship. "We'll have time a-plenty to sort and explain everything after we've gotten out of the open."


	41. Lord John Faa, King of the Gyptians

"Here you are, dear." a kindly faced woman a year or so younger than Ma Costa, likely a cousin or even a sister of hers, handed Lyra a plate of hot, fried fish, just out of the frying-pan.

Gyptians rarely used forks; mostly their sort of silverware consisted of bread-knives and wooden spoons, and so there were many burnt fingers by the time the meal was over, but no one really seemed to care.

To the rows of anxious, eager, fearful eyes, Lyra told her story. Mrs. Coulter, she said, had taken her to that house and had indeed made something of a pet of her, only to become exasperated when she suddenly became willful and would not obey her in a matter.

"I was taken to carrying a white leather shoulder bag with me everywhere," Lyra told them all, leaning her head back on a dampish, dark beam in the ship's cabin they were gathered in. "cuz the Master of Jordan gave me something I loved very much and wanted to keep close at hand. I guess she didn't much like that, so she told me to put it away."

"And then what happened?" Susan asked, tenderly smoothing Maugrim's back fur.

"I said no," Lyra said, her face tightening with blind rage over the whole matter. "I didn't want to."

"That must have made her cross." Edmund commented, knowing his mother well.

"Very." Lyra nodded. "She did try to remain calm at first-her voice was shaking, though. She told me proper ladies didn't carry about shoulder-bags in their own homes."

"Sounds like something she'd say." Maugrim snorted, pulling himself closer still to his mistress.

"I said that Jordan was my home."

"Then she let that horrid monkey lose on _me_!" exclaimed Pantalaimon, currently wrapped around Lyra's neck in the form of a long white ermine. "And I hadn't even said anything!"

Susan grimaced. "I'm sorry."

"It...it...it was horrible..." Lyra muttered, for lack of any other way to describe the experience. "...she...she grabbed onto my wrists so I couldn't help him."

Edmund shut his eyes as if that could somehow delete that horrid mental-image from his mind.

As for Susan, she felt her chest tightening with the pain of a very similiar memory, and very nearly wanted to cry over it. It had been rather suppressed-she had forgiven her mother for _that_ , though not for making her break Peter's heart, and then calling her a harlot and a whore-but now she recalled how truly frightening it had been. The shortened breaths, Maugrim's cries for help, oh lord! She wouldn't wish that sort of suffering on her worst enemy, least of all her own half-sister.

"Worse still," Lyra went on. "her stupid monkey broke into my room and tried to steal my thing-the precious object the Master gave me."

Edmund suddenly had something of a hunch as to exactly what that 'object' might just be, but he didn't speak his thoughts aloud, keeping quiet and letting his sister finish her story.

"That's when I says to Pan," (for some reason, Lyra's grammar and speech always got worse when she was angry or excited). "he aint got no right-and Pan's leapin' offa my shoulder as a hawk 'fore I can says anything else."

"Well, once everyone is set here, we'll be leaving this harbor port." Farder Coram told them all after Lyra had finished.

"Leaving?" Lucy blinked up at him in confusion. Of course they had to leave, lest Lyra be found with them and they all end up in prison on some false-charge of kidnapping, but it suddenly occurred to her that she hadn't the foggiest idea of what they would do next, where exactly they would be able to go. "Not back to Jordan?"

"Of course not," said Susan, shaking her head and glancing over at Peter with a passing, sentimental glance as if to remind herself that all of this suffering and running away did have a purpose, and then shifting her gaze back to Lucy. "Rabadash's men may still be around there-waiting for our return."

"And the Ruling Powers aren't going to let Lyra go back to Jordan College just like that, either." Edmund added somberly, reaching up and rubbing one of Ella's feathers between his thumb and index finger. "Mother wouldn't allow it."

"We're going to see Lord John Faa, the Gyptian King." Ma Costa explained, carefully using a curved pocket-knife to cut a fraying fringe off of a piece of scarlet fabric she was trying to mend.

"He is in charge of all the Gyptian clans, even the Telmarines, though I'm sure my uncle would love to over-throw him." Caspian put in, his eyes going from Lyra, to Susan, to Ma Costa while he spoke. His sea-gull let out a sharp bird-call of agreement, but he didn't seem to think his master needed any more backing up beyond that.

"Lord Miraz would love to over-throw anyone, the man is demented." Farder Coram sighed heavily, his jaw-line curving downwards in irritation. "The point is that Lord Faa is a good king and he's been trying to get all of the tribes of Gyptians together-at least, all of the clan heads-for some kind of meeting. He's sent for me and Ma Costa as well, for he has always regarded us warmly-he respects us. What's more, I know he would like to meet Lyra and Lucy if at all possible, and seeing as we've finally got them both together..."

"What is his interest in them?" Peter half-asked, half-demanded protectively.

"It's a complicated matter," said Farder Coram. "but it is a good thing, I believe, best to let the king see these girls-he'll know best what to do."

"Where does John Faa even live?" Susan wondered aloud; she knew there _was_ presumably a Gyptian king, she'd always known that, but as to where he dwelled, she was uncertain. She had-on occasion-heard of this or that Gyptian lord gaining a castle for himself, but never, not even once, of the king having any sort of palace.

"On a fine galleon that rests in a fixed point in the ocean-only the Gyptians know how to reach it." Farder Coram explained to them with a smile at their strange, baffled, looks of amazement. "It is called the Dawn Treader and has a large dragon's head at its mighty stern, Lion bless it."

Lucy snapped to attention. "What Lion?"

Farder Coram looked both delighted and afraid at the same time. "It's a very old expression-I wouldn't use it around anyone who fears the Ruling Powers, let's just put it that way."

"So we sail onto this...this _Dawn Treader_?" Maugrim double checked.

"Aye," sighed Ma Costa. "We sail towards the most important sea-craft ever to be created."

And so they did. The ship pulled out and sailed on and on, into the blank, seemingly lifeless parts of the ocean. It felt very slow but, indeed, their pace towards the Gyptian king's Dawn Treader was quite fast, all things considered. Besides, life at sea was not unpleasant for Lyra or Lucy-they both loved the smell of the salty-air, the laughter of the sailors when they'd had a wee bit too much ale to drink, and the feel of the wooden deck below their bare feet. For although Susan warned them constantly that it was a mad thing for them to be doing, they stopped wearing shoes altogether, not seeing any real reason for it at the time.

The sea also had something of an interesting effect on their dæmons as well; it made them more inventive in their forms, more adventurous, even. Pantalaimon tried being a sea-gull just for the heck of it. He made quite a beautiful gull all things put aside, a mite more golden-brown and elegant than Caspian's straggly scavenger. But, as Lyra freely pointed out, this only made sense, Pantalaimon was a half-wild, like herself, but Caspian's gull was pure Gyptian-bred through and through, of course there would have to be a difference between them.

As for Reepicheep, he gave his human a bit of a shock when he suddenly took the form of a black-and-white orca whale swimming along-side the ship. Not that she was at all cross at this. No, Lucy was quite delighted and her ensuing laughter testified to this.

"Aint you afraid, though?" Lyra asked her one late afternoon as they stood on the deck together watching Reepicheep play happily in the water, going up and down, and doing all sorts of tricks and flips of glee.

"Afraid of what?" said Lucy.

"That he'll like being in the water better, settle that way, and then you'll be stuck out at sea for the rest of your life." Lyra shuddered; she loved the ocean, but she didn't want to be there for ever and ever-it was, after all, a very long time when you really thought about it.

Lucy thought this over. She loved the ocean and, if Reepicheep chose to settle as a water-dwelling creature, she wouldn't hate life on-board a ship. But, then, what of Edmund? An owl wasn't a water-fowl. What if he was unhappy there? What if she was trapped there for ever and she never saw him again? She wouldn't like that, not one bit. She wasn't sure why that was suddenly so important and distressing to her, but it was-oh, it was! So she called out to Reepicheep, pleading for him to come back on the ship with her. He did, shifting into a mouse again, and though she never actually answered Lyra's question, Reepicheep was never seen in the form of a whale again after that.

Then came the day when they first saw the Dawn Treader on the horizon. She was a beautiful ship; her glittering blue-and-green-and-purple sides, her dragon-stern; it was like looking at a royal robe placed upwards in the middle of a sea of glass. Most of the crew was told to stay on board-even Caspian and Edmund were not admitted onto the Gyptian king's ship-but Fader Coram, Ma Costa, Peter, Susan, Lyra, and Lucy were taken onto a small life-boat which was rowed all the way to the glorious galleon.

Unlike the jolly sailors on the ship they had just left, the crew of the Dawn Treader did not smile, their faces stern and their expressions tight. No eyes twinkled, no grins suppressed themselves, and no hands waved in welcome.

"They don't seem very friendly, do they?" Pantalaimon, in the form of a golden mouse on Lyra's shoulder, whispered to his human.

Lyra glanced over at Lucy to see if she noticed this, too, but then quickly realized that three of the sailors fixing something damaged on the mast, were staring rather hard at her. "What are you lookin' at?" she huffed challengingly.

The sailors didn't answer; they just got right back to work.

"The king's sailors aren't supposed to be cheerful, they're natural warriors, each and every one of them." Farder Coram explained in a low tone to the two daughters of Lord Asriel.

"Oh, like the queen's guards in England." Lucy said, understanding it a bit more now.

"Which queen?" Lyra blurted out.

"A witch queen?" Reepicheep, in his large golden-band red-feather mouse form, pulled out his sword and started shaking his head back and forth. "Where?"

"No, not that sort of 'witch', 'which'!" Lucy half-laughed under her breath to her dæmon.

"Oh," Reepicheep calmed down. "Sorry."

They followed Ma Costa down into a spacious, but very dimly-lit, cabin below decks. The walls were painted black, the portholes were very few, and the four or five oil lamps lit, did little else besides light the very center of the room, the table, so that maps and other charts could be comfortably read. A man stood with his back to them, saying something to a group of fierce, but not cruelly so, Gyptians.

He spun around and his flashing black eyes landed on Lyra and Lucy, barely seeming to notice the others with them at first. Lucy recoiled, taking a step backwards, closer to Peter. Even Lyra became a little shy and would have turned right around if Ma Costa hadn't given her a light push in the man's direction and whispered, "There, there, it's alright."

He was a very large person with olive skin and long coarse black hair that grew all over his head and face. His clothing was made of fine deer-skin and lined with white seal fur; on his head, he had a deep crimson cap lined with brown-bear fur. For a dæmon, he had a handsome, but very wild-looking, crow with beady eyes and a remarkably long beak. Somehow they knew without being told that this was the Gyptian king, Lord John Faa.

"How do you do, Lord Faa?" Lyra attempted something of a wobbly part-curtsey, part-bow and focused her eyes on him as intently as she could manage, though it made her a little uncomfortable.

"These are the daughters of the Lord Asriel, then?" John Faa arched a brow at Fader Coram.

"Lord Asriel has a daughter?" Lucy's forehead crinkled and she looked behind her as if expecting to see another girl standing there.

Peter's face went red and he avoided Lucy's eyes for a few moments, feeling ashamed for never finding the courage to tell her the truth about her parents-at least, what he himself knew of it.

"And you, poor thing, Marisa Coulter's daughter." John Faa's hand extended out to Lyra. "Come here, child."

Lyra blushed. "Oh, I think you mean _her_ , Lord Faa." She pointed over at Susan.

Puzzled, John Faa stared at Susan for a moment, letting his eyes take her and her wolf-dæmon in. "Oh, yes, I remember you, Lady Susan Coulter."

"Susan Pevensie, your grace." she corrected shortly, giving the Gyptian king a quick curtsey as if that could make up for all the trouble she and her mother had caused the Gyptians in the past. "I've married."

"I see," John Faa replied politely. "None the less, it was not you I meant, I was in fact speaking of Lyra."

"But Mrs. Coulter aint my mother!" said Lyra rather passionately. "I was her assistant, then I run away and come here."

"They don't know?" John Faa asked Farder Coram who shook his head; his tabby-dæmon looked down sadly.

"Know what?" asked Lucy, clutching Reepicheep in the form of a golden-brown, black eared cat in her arms.

"Farder Coram?" John Faa coughed pointedly into his hand. "Explain?"

"Now?" The old man grimaced, highly discomfited.

"Yes," said John Faa.

"As your wish, your highness." Farder Coram bowed and then turned back to the girls. "Daughters, I must tell you something, neither of you are who you think you are."

"What do you mean?" Lucy leaned her head back on her elder brother's lower arm as if that would somehow protect her from hearing something she was afraid of hearing.

"You are both the children of Lord Asriel." Farder Coram told them gravely, his face long and sorrowful. "If it makes you feel better, he has long been a good friend to the Gyptians."

"But I aint Lord Asriel's daughter!" Lyra said indignantly, Pan shifting into a pole-cat and hissing wildly. "I'm his niece! My parents were the Count and Countess Belacqua!"

"Child," Farder Coram got down on his knees and gripped her shoulders tightly. "There never were any such people, your mother was-is-Lady Marisa Coulter, and your father, Lord Asriel."

Lucy felt like she was going to throw up; if Farder Coram tried to claim that Mrs. Coulter was _her_ mother, too, she thought she was going to have to fling herself off the ship rather than be known as the daughter of a monster. Not to mention the half-sister of the boy she thought she might be falling in love with. That was just plain disturbing.

"And you, Lucy," Farder Coram touched her arm reassuringly. "you were the only daughter of the late Lady Sarah, and her husband, Lord Asriel."

While still not pleased with Lord Asriel being her father, Lucy was rather relieved that her mother was someone she didn't know and thus didn't have to like or dislike. The fact that she was dead was sobering, but not shattering, as Lucy knew nothing off her.

"Lyra, child," John Faa offered her his hand again. "please come and sit by my side, we must talk-you, too, Lucy."

This time Lyra, too stunned to be nervous, took his hand, Lucy following them towards the table in the middle of the cabin with a blank, zombie-like expression on her face.

"Lyra, Lucy, these are the chiefs of the Gyptian families, you're both under our protection now." The King motioned to all the men present. "We know nearly everything about the two of you. Especially you, Lyra-we know your story up until you run away and were rescued, but is there anything that might be left out, anything you've forgotten?"

She hesitated for a moment and then reached into a large pocket to pull out something she had on her person, ignoring Pantalaimon's whisper-cries of, "Don't show it to them!"

"The Master of Jordan gave me this," she placed the glittering alethiometer, the golden compass, down on the table directly in front of herself.

The Gyptians gasped collectively, as did Lucy, her eyes widening with shock. Another alethiomter, a newer one! A golden one!

"I thought they was all taken by the Ruling Powers." Farder Coram's voice was soft and there were little tears in his eyes.

"Isn't it beautiful?" someone else sighed.

"Hmm, could it be used to help us discover what's happened to the missing children as of late?" John Faa wondered aloud.

"Not by me, it couldn't." chuckled Farder Coram, picking it up, opening it, and clicking his tongue sadly. "I can't read it to save my life-the art was jealously guarded."

"Can we try?" Lyra asked eagerly. "Me and Lucy, I mean."

"Lyra!" said Pantalaimon, getting frustrated with her. "What are you doing? You don't know how to read it!"

"Hush, Pan."

"By all means, let the child try." said John Faa, signaling for Fader Coram to return the alethiometer to Lyra.

"Well, I um..." Lyra was instantly at a loss.

Farder Coram smiled and explained how it worked. "Three hands you can control-by pointing at three symbols, ask your question, then it points to other ones for your answer."

"God, that sounds hard!" Lyra muttered, shaking her head and trying to figure out which symbols to point to.

"Well, what about the pot-picture?" Lucy suggested, leaning over and peering down at the alethiometer. "It could mean a recipe, or a plan."

"Oh, that's good!" Lyra moved one of the hands there.

"Okay, and what about the baby?" Lucy tried. "That could mean children, put one there."

"Alright." she did so.

"Now what about the other one?" Now she wasn't so sure. There were an awful lot of pictures, but none of them seemed right.

"What about the lady?" Lyra suggested. "A noblewoman-like Mrs. Coulter."

"What's she got to do with it?" Lucy huffed; Reepicheep became a bandicoot and snarled angrily at the thought of Mrs. Coulter.

"Well, she's the one taking those kids, I know it-I found something in her house...a notice from some place called Bolvangar..." Lyra explained quickly, her face paling as she said it.

Lucy shuddered. "Go on, then."

After the hand was put on the lady, the alethiometer pointed to an hour-glass, a building, and then stopped on a very strange image that both girls were puzzled by.

"What's that supposed to be?" Lyra squinted at it.

Lucy looked at it from another angle. "It's sort of like a centaur, lying on the ground."

"Some centaurs are prophets..." Farder Coram mused. "...it could mean a fulfillment of something..."

"But look," said Lyra, tapping the crystal face of the alethiometer. "What's that sticking out of him?"

"An arrow?" Lucy guessed, screwing up her eyes to focus more intently on it.

"It's in his side...is he... _injured_?" Lyra swallowed hard.

"Death," said Lucy, though she was still a great deal uncertain. "it might just mean death."


	42. The fallen star, or what the stars know

The air was frosty and Lady Marisa Coulter could see her breath floating in thick, white puffs with each terse exhale she made as she walked along the garden path with the very same priest-man from the Ruling Powers who had tried to poison Lord Asriel.

"I-I am puzzled by your interest in the Belacqua child..." The priest sighed, shaking his head.

Mrs. Coulter's monkey growled; she put a hand on his golden head to steady him. "For one thing, she is in possession of the alethiometer,"

"How-" the man stood still for a moment, dumbstruck, until the answer hit him. "Oh, yes, the Master."

Mrs. Coulter nodded somberly, her upper lip curling into a slight wince.

"Can she read it?" he asked in a tone that was under the pretence of being inquisitive, but was really more of a demand than anything else.

Rolling her eyes, Mrs. Coulter answered, "Of course not."

The priest did not seem entirely convinced; the wings of his blue beetle-dæmon stood forthright like two perfectly narrow, very sharp, upside-down icicles. "Mrs. Coulter," he said, his voice brusque. "are you familiar with the prophesies of the northern stars?"

Glowering at him, shaking her head indignantly, Mrs. Coulter scoffed, "You think she is _that_ child-one of the two? Impossible!"

"How can you be so sure?" the priest said slowly, searching her eyes for any outwards signs of deception or bafflement.

Marisa was tempted to say that it was because Lyra was her own daughter, and no child she'd borne would ever go up against the Ruling Powers; but she was afraid to admit it-that might be too dangerous. First she would be admitting that she had been more than friends with Lord Asriel. Though there were many who knew of it, most of them ignored the fact and never brought it up, as if it hadn't really happened. Then she would also be putting her eldest child, her prodigal daughter, her Susan, into harm's way. The prophecy-yes, she actually was familiar with it-stated that it would be two sisters who would change fate forever-two sisters, each with their own alethiometer. Mrs. Coulter knew Lyra had an alethiometer, and if Susan should perchance...no, it was best that the Ruling Powers were, for the most part, unaware that Lyra and Susan were half-sisters. They might let Lyra live, being an only child she could not fulfill the prophecy, but Susan, being the elder of the two and no longer a virgin, might be killed if the blood-ties between the girls were ever brought to light.

If Lady Marisa had known that Lucy was her former lover's legitimate daughter, that she, too, was Lyra's half-sister, she might have thought differently. She would likely have remembered the silver pocket watch her son failed to steal from the girl more than four years ago at Bolvangar, and would have informed the Ruling Powers of the truth, provided they assure her it would not be Lyra they killed, but the daughter of Lady Sarah instead. As it was, she did not want any of her own children to die, so she did not breathe a word of it.

"Lyra is an orphan of the late Count and Countess Belacqua," Mrs. Coulter said finally. "she had no brothers nor sisters. Remember please that it was only Lord Asriel's intervention that stopped the child from becoming a nobody the moment her parents died without fully passing down their titles to her."

The priest shrugged his shoulders, satisfied-at least for the time being. "Speaking of Lord Asriel, has he yet been found?"

"Not yet," said Mrs. Coulter coolly with a light, dismissive flick of her wrist. "Soon."

"How soon?"

"Do not demand of me 'how soon'!" She tossed her head back and snorted indignantly. "I have hired out every northern native imaginable-every bloody blasted hunter-to track the man down and bring him to prison." Lifting a coy, arched brow at him, she added, "Which, need I remind you, is far, far more than anything you or any of the other priests have done."

"Ah," muttered the priest diplomatically, glancing at his dæmon and blowing on his numb-from-cold hands while he spoke. "that soon."

In the meantime, still on-board the Gyptian king's Dawn Treader, Lucy sat on an oak-wood deck chair, looking out at the purple-pink sky as the sun steadily slipped away to make room for the moon. She could, actually, already see the pale, silvery-white silhouette of the moon if she got up, wandered over to the ship's railing, and then leaned over and squinted a bit. As it was, however, she had no current desire to move from her place. Inside, she felt like the ship had sunk and no one came to rescue her. How nobody had ever thought to tell her that Lord Asriel was her father, and Lyra her half-sister, until Lord John Faa ordered it was beyond her. She didn't want to be Lord Asriel's daughter; she didn't want to be the baby who was carried into another world to be with the Pevensies; she only wanted to be the same person she'd always believed she was. She wanted to be Lucy Pevensie, Peter's little sister.

Well, she thought to herself-cradling the silver pocket watch in her hands as if it were naught but a small toy for the sake of her comfort, I still am, no matter where I came from, I'm still Lucy Pevensie.

Reepicheep, as if he sensed that this was a meditative time for his mistress, was nestled around her neck in the form of a brown weasel with his harvest-moon-yellow eyes half-closed.

"Oh, Reepicheep, I wish Lyra could read her alethiometer and know what it meant-gosh, I wish I could read _mine_." murmured Lucy, rubbing her cheek against his fur as she gently opened the pocket watch and stared down at its clear, gleaming face. "I didn't even show it to them-it's all so hopeless, Reep."

Reepicheep gurgled faintly to let her know he was listening.

"What if Edmund's right? What if they're too strong for us? Do you think _they_ know Asriel's my father? How many people do you suppose...well, it was probably everyone but Lyra and me! They've gone and told the whole world, probably, before they would bother to let us know!" Even Lucy could tell she was sounding too pessimistic and bitter for her own good, and that it just wasn't like her.

Was she changing already? Was the knowledge of her real parents that strong? Strong enough to take away all that had made her a Pevensie? Even her personally? Even her bravery? No, she wouldn't let it. She would fight the Ruling Powers, she _would_!

"We'll figure it out, Reep." sighed Lucy, gazing down at the still open-faced watch in her hands. "We will-we have to."

As swiftly and quietly as a large cat, be it a lion, tiger, panther, or leopard, walks on the pads of his paws, so Farder Coram came over to Lucy and looked down at what she held in her hands, her own alethiometer. It might not have been just like Lyra's; it wasn't a golden compass-but it still meant something. This silver pocket watch showed the truth. He thought he knew now, without shadow of doubt, that all he had ever suspected when he looked at Lord Asriel's daughters was the truth.

"Lucy, if you are attempting to read that alethiometer, one thing I do know is that you mustn't grasp at the answer." he told her, grunting softly as he lowered himself down onto his knees beside the deck chair. His tabby-dæmon let out a comforting purr.

"But..." Lucy protested softly, uncertain.

"Hold it lightly in your mind...like it was something alive...like...well, like you were trying to find north with your compass or simply reading the time, as if it were something you already knew how to do." His blue eyes were warm with encouragement and pride as he instructed her, and she felt the least she could do was try it his way.

Moving the golden hands, pointing randomly at the slashed O and the letter, Æ, she tried to focus her mind on a question about how they would fight the Ruling Powers, but-lightly as she held it-she felt clumsy, like she could drop it at any given second. She was about to give up when she thought she saw something twinkling within the watch like a growing bean-plant. It was an image, she realized, and it was telling her something. Children stood together bundled up in their warmest clothing (the children from Bolvangar?), a little row of lights all the colours of the rainbow, snow...a lot of it, a wolf's mouth-howling, a somebody with golden fur and a blazing mane (the Lion who liked Dust?). She could see these things as the hands moved. Lucy was reading her alethiometer, not out of knowledge, but out of instinct. She still didn't know what the letters meant, but she found she could-almost-read it anyway. It was like something that had to be practiced, yet it could be done. Each time, the image would get clearer. Farder Coram couldn't do it-he couldn't see what she saw-this was a message meant for her to discern. That was why Lord Digory had given the pocket watch to her; because she was meant to see the truth reflected in it like a mirror. That was why the Master felt Lyra was meant to have the golden compass (Lucy felt strangely confident all of a sudden that, with a little practice, Lyra would be able to read her alethiometer on instinct, too).

"I don't understand what its trying to tell me...not for sure...but I-I think I can read it, Farder Coram." said Lucy, staring into his smiling, unblinking eyes.

"Yes, that's not as much of a surprise to me as you might think." he chuckled mildly.

Before she could ask him what he meant, there was a horrible scream, like something dying, falling right out of the sky. A shooting star lit up the darkened sky and seemed to be coming closer and closer to the ship. It looked like a small ball of crystal with a silver-blue tail streaming out behind it.

"I say, Lucy," whispered Reepicheep, still wrapped around her neck. "is that screaming coming from the falling star itself?"

Farder Coram stood up and started barking at the crew to spread out their strongest net at the Dawn Treader's side. They did so as hastily as they possibly could, getting it ready just in time, right before the star landed there with an "Oof!"

When Lucy rushed over to the railing and peered down, it was not a flaming ball of gas the size of a grown-man's fist that she saw lying down flat on its back in the centre of the net, but a young woman with long golden hair and a sweet, beautiful face and useless, worn out, milky-coloured limbs. She didn't move, flinch, or thrash about-she was as still as a dead girl, though she lived and breathed and glowed like living being.

Moments later, the net was pulled up onto the ship, and Farder Coram and a few shrew-faced women (mostly wives of the Lord John Faa's sailors) helped the beautiful star-maiden below decks, placing her in a warm bed where she could rest.

Later, when the star had evidently regained consciousness, Lyra and Lucy were unexpectedly sent for. The star-woman was too weak to leave her bunk, and thus could not come up to them, but she expressed a deep wish to see them both in private so as to have an audience with them. Because she was so sweet-tempered and beautiful, not to mention currently on her sick-bed, the two girls were ushered down to her in no time.

At first, they really could not help staring, for they had never seen anyone quite like this lady before. She was beautiful in a very different way than Marisa and Susan were; as if comparing a diamond to a flower. Sitting up in bed with her long, elegant fingers curled around the folds of the dark purple dressing-gown the Gyptian woman had given her to wear over a thin white, nearly translucent, night-dress, she looked like a young fairy godmother. Her hair was in two long braids that would have reached her waist if she had been standing up, hanging down at her sides like thick golden ropes. The garment of clear-blue she had been wearing when she'd landed in the net shimmered like the sky over the ocean on a perfect day where it had been thrown haphazardly over the back of a chair at the far end of the cabin.

"Are you the girls?" whispered the star, her voice a little hoarse. "The ones with the symbol readers?"

They nodded slowly and simultaneously took a step nearer to her bedside.

A little smile graced her lips. "Let me see you read them,"

A little shakily, they pulled out their alethiometers, afraid of failing to read them clearly, thus disappointing her-for the lady did look so happy when they had admitted their identities.

"I want to know if you can tell me," she went on softly. "the name of the man who was once my lover."

Lyra looked down at her golden compass and moved the needles so that they pointed to the pictures of the lady, the ring, and something that might have been a horse-the most romantic options the alethiometer had to offer.

At the same time, Lucy stared down at hers, more confused than Lyra was, hoping she would be able to read it the same way she had on the deck with Farder Coram. Holding the question as lightly in her mind as possible, doing her best to manage the silver pocket watch, she waited for the answer.

Within the gold and silver, instinct and telepathic communication seemed to flow through both girls, connecting them to the truth of matters and to each other. The image was clearer this time; a Telmarine Gyptian man. He was like Caspian- _very_ like Caspian, actually-but somehow different...something in his eyes. He was _a_ Caspian, but not the Caspian they knew; not Miraz's nephew.

"Caspian the first," breathed Lyra, Pan resting on her shoulder in the form of a dull brown moth, the name coming to her just as clearly as the face.

The star-woman's smile grew and she murmured, "Bravo."

"But..." said Lucy, closing the silver pocket watch as she spoke. "...he lived a long time ago...there have been ten generations since."

"I know," sighed the star-woman, leaning her head back on her pillow. "and the tenth of that name looks more like his ancestor than any of the others did; but we stars live for thousands of years, and there was a time when none of them had yet been born, Caspian the first was young and handsome then."

"If you don't mind my asking," Lucy said, glancing over at Reepicheep who rested on the foot of the bed in the form of a black mouse with golden eyes. "where's your dæmon? Or don't stars have them,"

Sitting up and sighing to herself, the star-maiden replied, "We have them just as you do, but we can go as far from them as we like-we are not bound to them as you humans are."

"But who are you?" Lyra wanted to know.

Holding the side of one of her fair yellow braids in one hand, she said, "I am the daughter of Ramandu the star; mothered by the sister of the witch of the lily lake-also known as the silver sea. We female stars do not often carry about names as you human ladies do, just as our dæmons can go a long way from us, so can our names-so to speak. They aren't always with us, you see."

There was a moment of silence and understanding between the girls who's destines had long been known to this star, whom she had spoken of to many a centaur in the passing years, and herself. Then she closed her eyes and uttered, "I am glad I've lived long enough to finally see you both."


	43. Of nightmares and witch queens

In the stillness of the night, Farder Coram felt that he was the only live and awake creature on the whole of the Dawn Treader's deck. Actually, he very well may have been; unless you counted the Gyptian guards up in the crow's nest holding their brass spy-glasses, keeping an eye out in case of a surprise attack, everyone else was asleep. Farder Coram couldn't sleep-his old bones ached, his eyes were sore, and sometimes, when he finally managed to rest, to leave the conscious world for a little while, he had nightmares.

Not mild, just slightly eerie nightmares either. Real ones. Massive, heart-pounding, down-right terrifying ones. Only an hour before, he had woken up in a cold-sweat after having a dream about Lady Sarah laid out in bed holding her new-born baby for the first-and last-time, then slowly stretching out her arms to hand the little bundle to him. For some reason, she was able to do this more than once, and each time some new horror occurred. The blanket of the bundle fell open and nothing came out but a stream of blood-no baby, just blood. The next time there was a rattlesnake in there. Once there was nothing but a big, gaping, swirling hollow where the baby's face should have been, although the rest of her seemed just fine.

No, this calm, living-dead stroll across the moon-lit deck was far more peaceful than sleep, poor distraught Farder Coram decided. The moon did play such funny tricks on weary, tired eyes, though, didn't it? Why, he could have sworn-yes up and down _sworn_ -that there was something perched on top of Lord John Faa's upper cabin. Something white and downy-black, with blue and purple wrapped around its body, and dark eyes that flashed. A willowy, serious-pout bearing somebody with bended knees up there looking down at him very intently.

It wasn't a trick of the moonlight after all; it was a woman of sorts. When she seemed to realize he saw her and that she had his attention, the woman nodded and swooped down onto the deck as gracefully as a bird lands on a rock or a roof-top in spite of the fact that she did not appear to have any real means of flight-no wings or anything like that. (She did, however, hold in her left hand a cloud-pine branch as she stood before him.)

"Greetings, Farder Coram." said the woman, her voice was deep, husky, but still very feminine; her stunning beauty rendered the startled elderly man nearly speechless, staring at her agape. "We have met before, in a way, but I'm sure you don't remember me."

Dark eyes, pale skin, a dancer's figure and posture, long black hair that curled and waved wildly and yet did not look unkempt. No one who had seen this lady would be able to forget her-so Farder Coram was certain she had made a mistake. Surely it was some other Gyptian man she had met and confused him with, whoever she was.

"My name is Serafina Pekkala," she went on. "former Princess of the witches of the silver sea, recently crowned queen after the sorrowful passing of the last ruler."

Lowering his head, he bowed to her. "Your Majesty."

"Ah, but it is I who ought to bow to you, Farder Coram," she smiled at him and placed a perfect white hand on his shoulder, gently lifting him upwards so that he did not swoop before her like a beaten dog. "for you unknowingly saved my life. You rescued, unwittingly, my dæmon, Kaisa, a grey goose who can fly a long way from me. That is how we met before, through him-you were young and beautiful back then."

The old man blushed, feeling a sort of shyness he had not felt in a woman's presence since his acquaintance with Lord Asriel's late wife.

"And now I have heard from my Kaisa, who was flying nearby earlier, that you have now rescued my niece as she fell from the sky, the daughter of my own brother-in-law, Ramandu."

"So the star-lass is of your blood," Farder Coram was glad that someone had come for the poor maiden. He had been worrying over what was to be done with her-she couldn't stay on the Dawn Treader for ever.

"Nay, tis a lady of more star-blood than witch, but she is my niece none the less." answered Serafina Pekkala, still smiling a sleepy, gentle smile at him.

"Shall I take you down to see her, your Majesty?" stammered Farder Coram, squirming under her warm, wonderful gaze.

"No, my lord, not now if you please, I would let her sleep in a bit for this cannot be easy for her; stars do not like to be on bed-rest."

"Very well."

"But, I do have something I must speak about with you and the king of the Gyptians right away and in private if at all possible. Dear Farder Coram, are you in the king's favor enough so that he should not become angry with you if you were to wake him at this hour?" she inquired.

"I suppose he would not mind, your Majesty, Lord Faa is a good man who understands that being a king means being summoned whenever he is needed."

She blinked at him. "Very good, then, please make the arrangements at once."

Not more than perhaps fifteen minutes later, Serafina Pekkala, Farder Coram, and Lord John Faa all sat at a round table in a below-deck cabin, facing each other. Serafina Pekkala's glance was stern, but not unkindly so-it was anxiety that made her face tighten like that, not anger or distain. Lightly pounding her cloud-pine branch on the floor directly in front of her like she was pressing a scepter down on the titles of a throne room, the witch queen explained her reasons for coming to see them.

"The Ruling Powers grow ever stronger, and Bolvangar is more dangerous than ever before. Child after child are losing their dæmons to despicable experiments endorsed by Lady Marisa Coulter.

"We witches believe that there can be no reasoning with that woman-she fears the Ruling Powers and loves the safety and glamour that results from her obeying them. And, besides, even if she could be reasoned with, another would undoubtedly be brought up in her place.

"For a while we feared that the next Lady Coulter would be none other than Susan, Marisa's own daughter from her late husband, but the stars have flown down to us and informed us that any such action is unlikely. That the young lady in question has in fact married, not a great lord, but a nobody from another world having nothing, not even a dæmon of his own. Needless to say, we are pleased to welcome the girl to our own side, and even more pleased that her half-sister, Lyra, has an alethiometer now. Of course we are perfectly aware the the threat to the Ruling Powers is the child currently christened, Lucy Pevensie, not the daughter of Lord Edmund and Lady Marisa, but the Ruling Powers do not know that. Should it all come out that Susan is related by blood to Lyra Belacqua, she would be in danger of being killed, watch her carefully-and listen to anything you hear regarding the Ruling Powers' understanding of the prophecy.

"Furthermore, someone must save the children who-for now-remain unharmed at Bolvangar. Many of them are Gyptians, your own blood, Lord Faa, your own nieces and nephews and cousins. A fleet of Gyptians including Farder Coram, yourself, the Costa family, and the nephew of the usurper Miraz should be sent up north to find and rescue them all. Along with these Gyptians, send Lyra and Lucy. As I imagine the boy who has served many a-year as the decoy brother for the latter girl will not want her going without him, allow him-and his wife-to travel with them. Also, his brother-in-law who has a book on alethiometers, allow _him_ to go with the rescue party as well.

"I have sent word to Lee Scoresby the aeronaut and Iorek Byrnison of the armoured bears; they will meet you at a port five hours north of Norroway. They mean to serve you in your campaign."

"Very good," said Lord John Faa, his voice rumbling with relief, pleased that Serafina Pekkala had come and informed him of these matters. "A fleet will go right away and rescue the children imprisoned at Bolvangar."

"That is all the fairies and stars alike are anxious for, the rest will have to follow as fated." Serafina Pekkala said softly, giving them a warm expression that looked very odd on a face with such a young appearance.

"We will rescue every child there; Gyptian and land-person alike, but if they have been harmed...so help me..." he stood up and towered over the table, Farder Coram and Serafina Pekkala, his eyes glinting. "...if they have been harmed, we will strike such a blow-we will leave those cruel scientists broken and shattered!" With that, he pounded his fist on the table, rattling half the cabin.

Farder Coram jumped involuntarily; but Serafina, as though she had been expecting this, did not flinch, the only part of her that moved was the skin around her eyelids as they calmly widened.

When Lord John Faa was finished ranting about Bolvangar and agreeing with Serafina Pekkala and thanking her for coming and letting them know what they needed to do, he went back to bed and bid Farder Coram to show the witch queen to the place where her niece rested.

Ramandu's daughter slept deeply, her white eyelashes unmoved and untroubled. Shaking her head down at her niece, the witch queen placed her hand down on the star's forehead and waited for a moment. The same way humans can feel the heat on their children's foreheads and know when they have a fever, fairies and stars can feel illnesses on one another and know what they are and how long they will last for.

"Mmm, exhaustion, slightly worn-out, nothing too terrible." said Serafina Pekkala, more to herself than to Farder Coram.

"She will be alright?" His hoary eyebrows rose upwards as he spoke.

"She will live;" the witch queen confirmed. "it is not yet her time to die."

"What shall we do with her?" Farder Coram asked, looking down at the fair, golden, milk-and-honey maiden sleeping on the bed.

"Take her with you on the fleet going north, let her sleep and help her to keep up her strength." the witch queen instructed. "When she is well enough, she will return to the skies and to her father, Ramandu."

"Will do," Farder Coram promised. His upper lip curling in a shy manner, he added, "Shall I walk you up to the deck, your Majesty?"

"Yes please," she said, standing close at his side. "and if you don't mind, I like my friends to call me Serafina-none of that stuffy, formal nonsense."

"Am I your friend?"

"One of my truest." she replied, giving him a gentle nudge as they walked back up and out onto the deck.

The witch queen placed her hands on the railing, looking out at the waves, and up at the moon as if it were her mirror, she sighed, "So much will rest on the destiny of those girls-the daughters of Lord Asriel."

"I think they can do it." said Farder Coram; for he loved them dearly now and thought more than highly of them both.

"I've no doubts, but even fairies have to be afraid sometimes."

"I will help them, Serafina, even if I have to die trying." whispered Farder Coram, leaning as close to her ear as he dared. "I have lived a long, full life, and I could not imagine a more noble death if I had to chose one."

She placed her hand on his shoulder. "You are a good man, Farder Coram, I know the girls are in good hands."

"They're under the protection of myself and the other Gyptians."

"One more thing," she removed her hand and reached for her cloud-pine branch. "look after Edmund Coulter the second, too, the stars say he's part of the solution." With that, she pulled her bottom up onto the cloud-pine and flew away into the night.

Watching after her for a while, Farder Coram sighed, but he also smiled. It was a smile of fear, a smile of an ending, but one of happiness and hope as well. His tabby remembered the goose-dæmon and how much she had liked him, flicked her tail, and smiled right along with her master.

Farder Coram was not the only one on the Dawn Treader who had been suffering from nightmares that night; Susan, as she rested in her cot by her husband's side, Maugrim at her feet, had a frightening vision of her own.

There was a curved sword of steel flashing in the room and it was placed on her husband's neck. She could not call out to warn him; she was asleep at his side.

"Get up," a horrid, familiar oily voice demanded.

Peter opened his eyes, saw a dark face looming above him, pressing a blade to his neck and started to stand up as he was told. He attempted to reach over and wake Susan by tapping her on the arm as he got up, but the dark faced man snapped his fingers and two more men with spears in their hands appeared, threatening to harm her if he touched her.

"Don't do this," Peter whispered, swallowing hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, his eyes never leaving the blade. "Please, she's my wife."

"She's not your wife and you deserve to die for stealing my betrothed and making a harlot of her." the oily voice said-it was Lord Rabadash.

One of the men carrying spears grabbed Susan's arm and pulled her up out of the bed. Awake now, she could react, but it was too late to save her husband. Rabadash ran him through right in front of her and then said, "Let that be a lesson to anyone who tries to double cross me, you black-hearted daughter of a dog."

Her wedding ring was ripped off of her finger by her betrothed. She looked over at Maugrim as if hoping he could-and would-do something but he stood as still and useless as a statue, as shaken and unhelpful as a dumb dog. Suddenly the engagement ring Lord Rabadash had given her before was on her hand and she was being dragged out of the cabin by her hair. She screamed and kicked and cried, but no one came to help.

She found that they weren't on the deck of the ship anymore, but rather were in the centre of the great hall of the Ruling Powers. Rabadash, still dragging her by the hair, pulled her in front of a long row of glowering priests with the Ruling Powers' crest sewn onto their velvet over-coats.

They all took one look at her and nodded. "This is the one, kill her."

Rabadash leaned forward, kissed her cheek, and said, "Goodbye O' Beautiful one. May the White Lady take mercy on your soul." With that, he pulled back his hand, holding a sword, swinging it, ready to behead her.

Just as the blade hit the back of her neck, Maugrim bayed and she felt a scream rising to her throat. Her face was drenched in sweat and she was shaking all over. Somehow she was lying down again and staring up at the ceiling in the cabin on the Dawn Treader-no Lord Rabadash or Ruling Powers Priests in sight.

Breathing heavily, she started sobbing to herself, stroking Maugrim's fur, whispering into his soft, wolf-ears, "It was only a dream, we're safe, oh, god, we're safe."

Her eyes flickered over to Peter; he was still asleep, no signs of being run through with a curved blade. Pulling herself closer to him, Susan took his hand in hers and held it tightly-it was warm and alive, he was fine. It was just a nightmare and it was over now. Still, she couldn't help weeping all over again, her whole body racked with sobs. Silly as she knew it was to get this worked up over something that wasn't even real, she couldn't stop herself.

"Susan?" Peter opened his eyes, wakened by her crying. "What's the matter? You alright?"

Swallowing her sobs the best she could, she murmured, "Oh, it's silly, I-I-I just had a bad dream."

"Sweetheart, you're covered in cold sweat." he wiped her forehead dry and gently brushed a few tears off her cheeks. "Was it so horrible?"

"I dreamed you had died...you got run through with a sword and...oh..." She started blubbing again, feeling stupid, but unable to will herself to be sensible the way she usually was.

"Shh..." he whispered groggily, just barely able to keep his half-asleep eyes open, but attempting to comfort his wife all the same. "...It's alright...I'm right here."

She touched his cheek. "I know, I know,"

"I'm not going anywhere, I promise you, Su."

"Will you hold me?" She pulled herself closer to him.

"Sure, come here." He put his arms around her and held her tightly.

She rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes.

"It's alright, Susan," Maugrim whispered shakily, curling up at their side, a little frightened from the nightmare they'd just had, too. "We're safe now."


	44. Snowy Valleys

Just as Serafina Pekkala had instructed, a fleet of Gyptians along with Caspian, Farder Coram, Lord John Faa, Peter, Susan, Edmund, Lucy, and Lyra traveled north to meet up with Lee Scoresby and Iorek Byrnison. Once they were all together, the party, bundled up in their warmest coats, cloaks, muffs, gloves, hats, capes, scarves, and wool shawls, headed north.

Lucy, who hadn't gotten a chance to meet Iorek before, was simply enchanted with the armoured bear and walked close by his side talking to him about various things, and he told her about his whiskey-drinking years in captivity after his armour was taken away.

"That was a rotten thing for Mrs. Coulter to do to you," said Lucy, thoroughly disgusted, but not surprised, by the woman's actions. Reepicheep, a little snow-fox trotting along near his human's legs, nodded in agreement and bared his pearl-coloured teeth.

"She was very clever, Mrs. Coulter was," said Lyra, who was walking along at Iorek's other side, not any less charmed by the bear than her half-sister was. "ever so very clever. I learned more in the short time with her than I ever did with them scholars at Jordan-but she was always telling me what to do." Sighing deeply, she prattled on, "I don't like people telling me what to do-I bet you don't like it either, Iorek Byrnison-you're like my father, Lord Asriel...he's a rough noble like you...that's what I think." She probably would have gone on to say even more, but they were marching uphill in four inches of thick, frozen snow and she was running out of breath. Pan, in the form of an arctic hare out of admiration for Lee Scoresby's Hester, panted and had to stop hopping for a few moments until he could breathe freely again. Seeing his weariness, his mistress bent down and scooped him up into her arms to carry him along for a little while.

Whereas Lucy had been strongly displeased and deeply troubled to find out that the man who'd fathered her was the distant, uncaring, bossy, threatening, imposing Lord Asriel, Lyra had been simply in seventh heaven over the whole matter once she got used to the idea. Though she had always feared her uncle and could never settle on whether or not she loved him, her personal admiration for the man never wavered, and to find out the great lord she was in such awe over was her father pleased her to no end. She'd never had a father before-it might be sort of nice, she thought, to be his daughter instead of his niece. It wasn't long at all before-at least in her thoughts-Lord Asriel became, 'father'.

In contrast, Mrs. Coulter was never 'mother'. She was simply, 'Mrs. Coulter', or if Lyra was being particularly bitter, 'that woman'. She couldn't call her 'mother', even in her thoughts. In so many ways Lady Marisa was the sort of mother Lyra had always dreamed of-she was beautiful and clever, and had the nicest buttery voice when she was being sweet. In others, she was more like a monster-her and that horrid golden monkey. What sort of mother let her dæmon attack her children's dæmons and held them back so that they couldn't stop it? Not a very good one, that was for sure. Lyra wouldn't mind being Lord Asriel's daughter; but she was more than through with Marisa.

Lee Scoresby's air-ship was currently in need of some repairs so instead of flying it, he had it in parts, strapped to the back of a reindeer he had purchased from Winding Arrow (Lucy thought it looked exactly like the one she had pleaded with Lord Asriel not to let the town's people make stew out of more than four years ago, but Peter disagreed, saying Lee Scoresby's reindeer was too young for that), with a few Gyptians' pack-animals and dæmons helping carry some of the heavier parts.

One burly Gyptian man with a long, straight, rat-tail mustache stumbled and nearly dropped a thick piece that looked sort of like a large pipe with a rifle's tip.

"Whoa!" Lee Scoresby exclaimed, helping the man back up to his feet. "Careful! Air-ship machinery's kinda finicky; I wanna die in a rocking chair, not a hydrogen fire."

Susan giggled lightly and smiled over at him, pleased to hear her old friend's funny way of speech again-she had sort of missed it. Maugrim chuckled faintly, too.

He tipped his hat to her and winked; Hester hopped over to Maugrim and tilted her head at him in a friendly manner before speedily rushing back to her master.

Doe, not liking how cold and wet the snow made her feel, started crying loudly at Peter's feet as if to say, 'why don't you love me anymore?' and rubbed one of her ears up against his wool tights.

"It's okay, girl." Peter sighed, bending down and picking up the yowling cat, gently removing a little bit of frost from her fur.

"Poor little thing," said Susan, reaching out to pet the cat's soft velvety head.

Doe hissed bad-temperedly and tried to bite her hand.

"Hey now!" Peter scowled down at the cat, lifting her up a bit and turning her around so that they were eye to eye, and gave it a stern talking-to. " _Pretend_ you like Susan or I'm putting you back down in the snow and making you walk the rest of the way to Bolvangar."

The cat let out a begrudging purr and allowed Susan stroke her between the ears without any further protest.

"Lucy!" Edmund called out, his fur-lined hood falling backwards as he ran passed Peter and Susan over to where Lucy and Lyra were still talking to Iorek, holding the alethiometer book open to an exciting page he had found. Ella had to flap her wings very hard to keep up with him, but she didn't mind so much because she was just as thrilled as her human was.

Lucy whipped her head around when she heard him calling; one of the two reddish-brown braids that hung at her shoulders stuck to the back of the wool-cap she was wearing under the hood of the deerskin winter-coat the Gyptians had given her.

"Look at this!" The wind had turned the page a couple of times and he had to flip through the book quickly to find it again, having some trouble managing the fine paper with his stiff wool gloves.

The page he wanted to show her was about alethiometrists (scholars who had mastered the ability to read alethiometers, not with instinct as Lucy and Lyra could, but the same way a child can learn to read words in a book) and it gave some hints as to what a few-precious few, unfortunately-of the symbols in Lyra's golden compass meant.

He was so excited over it, forgetting for a moment that he distrusted anything that worked because of Dust, that Lucy knew right then and there that-someday-Edmund would become an alethiometrist himself. She wasn't sure when, or even how exactly, it would happen, she just knew it _would_. Lucy was happy for him, though she feared for him as well, knowing that in all likelihood, if Dust was thought to be bad, an alethiometrist would be in a dangerous occupation. And yet, deep down, it only made her admire and care for him-and his dæmon-all the more so.

Suddenly the whole party came to a stop. Farder Coram put a protective arm around Lucy's shoulders and inhaled deeply. A vast realm of icy lands lay before them, looming like a giant's mirror, cracked and broken in some places, and glassy-smooth in others. One could tell at once that the wind picked up there; a person could see the snowflakes flying in groups like they were bees.

"Hunters' regions." Iorek said, sniffing, his black nose twitching up and down.

"They wont take kindly to trespassers," sighed Lee Scoresby, looking anxious, bearing a grim expression of pursed lips under his white mustache. Hester's ears stood up straight and she hopped forward and turned her soft little nose to the cold wind.

"It's the only way to reach Bolvangar." Iorek reminded everyone.

And indeed it was. Bolvangar was deep in-land and could not be sailed to. Coachmen avoided the area like the plague. Arctic hunters were among the few people who would dwell nearby such a terrible place, and they hated company. Many of them were fierce and a bit greedy-willing to sell off stranded children to their disreputable neighbors if the need arose. Most of them had, in fact, been hired out by Mrs. Coulter herself to capture Lord Asriel-she was sure they would not fail her. They rarely did.

"Come, children." Farder Coram reached out and grasped Lucy's hand on his right side, putting his left arm over Lyra's shoulders now. His tabby rubbed comfortingly against Reepicheep and Pantalaimon-walking between them.

"We must walk quickly-soon it will be dark and we will need to set up camp." Iorek announced, urging them, and all their weary limbs, onward.

Susan glanced over at Peter and rested her forehead on the side of his shoulder briefly. Looking down at her, he smiled and lightly kissed the top of her head.

"I'm going to go walk beside Edmund for a little while," she told him quietly.

"Go on, then." Peter nodded as Doe shifted in his arms, apparently no longer wanting to be held. Sighing, he placed her down.

The cat let out a mournful mew and glared up at her favorite human accusingly as if to demand of him how dare he place her on the ground when it was so cold and wet and covered in frosty snow-ignoring the fact that she had been squirming unmanageably less than a minute ago. Nothing else for it, he laughed to himself and picked her up again. There was no end of trouble with this fake dæmon, was there?

An hour later, the sun was gone, replaced by a murky sliver of a half-moon and a thousand points of starry-light peering out from the black veil the world was suddenly blinded by. The Gyptians, being experts at setting up camp in any sort of climate, warm or cold, had quickly gotten rows of fur-lined deer-hide tents pitched and a warm, roaring fire to cook over burning brightly.

After supper was finished-a fine meal, all things considered, made up of seal-meat, hard white cheese, chilled black-berries (a treat someone had happened to have on them and was willing to share), some sort of jerky, and frozen reindeer milk-Lyra and Lucy were ordered to go into the tent that had been put aside for them and not to leave it.

"We've gotta keep them as safe as possible-I reckon having unsettled children prancing around our camp is just _asking_ for trouble from desperate hunters." Lee Scoresby said with an anxious twist of his mustache.

Still, Lyra was none too pleased with being confined like that. She was finally up north and she could hardly even take any of it in-they had to walk fast all day and bunker down in the tents all night. Real explorers probably didn't get their wondrous northern stories from _this_.

Shivering, Lucy decided against changing for bed, not wanting to feel the biting air against her skin even for a few moments. There was a basin of water for her and Lyra to wash their faces in before going to sleep but, she found as she attempted to scoop some of it into her red, slightly-chapped hands, it was frozen, more ice than liquid. Her elbow accidentally knocked the small ivory soap bar onto the ground where it broke into seven pieces, shattering like a chuck of porcelain, too hard to be of any real use anyway.

"Night, Reepicheep." Lucy murmured, leaping right under the warm Gyptian-sewn fox-fur comforters; her dæmon shifting into a brown weasel and curling up close-by her neck.

Lyra, in spite of being a little tired herself, didn't feel much like sleeping; she sat with the blankets on her lap and ran her fingers along a line of orange beads sewn around the comforter's border. Pan, in his pole-cat form, watched her, resting on her leg and blinking his sleepy eyes at his mistress.

"Somethin's not right, Pan." Lyra whispered, not wanting to wake Lucy who had already fallen asleep. Taking out her alethiometer, she pointed to the three symbols she thought might work for asking it what was amiss in the atmosphere. By instinct, she saw the answer. Sort of.

It was something to do with a strange, isolated little house over in the next valley-some kind of trouble, shaking and crying. A bad spirit, perhaps, she guessed, though she couldn't be sure. Shuddering, she blinked her widened eyes and closed the alethiometer.

"What is it?" Pan asked, shifting into an ermine and placing his paws on her arm. "What can you see? What's it telling you?"

Lyra didn't answer him; shaking, she pulled the covers off of her lap and climbed out of the bed, slipping on her thick, warm snow boots.

"Lyra!" Pantalaimon hissed, lightly nipping at her pinky finger to make sure he had her attention. "We're not supposed to leave the tent,"

"Hush, Pan." She pulled her arms through the sleeves of her coat and rubbed her woolen mittens together.

In the meantime, in the tent Peter and Susan shared, things were not anymore peaceful. Exhausted, they'd fallen asleep mere seconds after their heads hit the wild-goose feather stuffed pillows, but Peter was woken up shortly thereafter by a yelp from Susan's end.

"What's the matter?" Peter muttered sleepily, not quite able to make his eyes open all the way just yet.

"You keep dying, that's the matter!" Maugrim snapped irritably, sick of loosing sleep over his human's nightmares.

He was awake now, his eyes open as he grunted and pulled himself up. "You had the dream again,"

"Yes!" Susan panted, not crying this time, although her whole face was incased in sweat that had frozen to her skin, forming a thin sheet of ice around her cheeks and forehead. "Oh, Peter, it was horrid! Absolutely _horrid_!"

"It was only a dream, Susan," Peter reassured her, taking her trembling hand in his and attempting to steady it a bit.

"It was just like the one I had when we were on the Dawn Treader-only it didn't start in a ship-cabin, it started right here. Right here in this tent. All the same; Rabadash threatened you, ran you through with a sword, and then dragged me off by the hair. Then it was all the same-it wasn't the snowy tundra outside, but the Ruling Powers' great hall..." said Susan, greatly distressed.

"Everything's going to be fine, I promise." Peter said.

"You're right," Susan replied, regaining a little bit of her tranquility and sensibleness. "it's silly-"

"Well, no, it's not silly-it scared you." he amended kindly.

She smiled at him, grateful to have such a thoughtful husband. She was fairly certain that if it were Rabadash who laid beside her at night when she had bad dreams he wouldn't be so sympathetic. "Do you know that's why I love you?"

"Well, I thought you loved me because life is like a stream." he teased, trying to make her feel better.

It worked; her laughter was intense and genuine, even Maugrim's shoulder-blades shook with amusement. "Gosh, Peter! You still _remember_ that?"

"Come on, I remember nearly everything you say-you know that."

"I didn't." Susan said honestly.

"Now you do." Peter shrugged his shoulders and pulled a woolen blanket over Maugrim because the wolf-dæmon looked cold.

Susan smiled warmly at her husband. "I think I'll be all right now, Peter, thank you."

"Sure," he yawned, rubbing his probably blood-shot eyes. "no problem."

"Come, Maugrim, do let's try to get back to sleep." sighed Susan, putting her head back down and closing her eyes.

Maugrim mumbled something that was probably unpleasant and snappy; but there was a thankfulness under his gruff tone and he was glad, without shadow of a doubt, glad that Peter was there to comfort them.

Unfortunately for Peter he was unable to fall back asleep. His wife slept-her eyelids didn't twitch and Maugrim's ears didn't flicker back and forth, so it was safe to assume she wasn't having any nightmares, she might not have been having any dreams at all from the looks of it. But he himself could not row back to the cozy shores of the land of Nod. He turned three different ways-and nothing. He put his arm around his wife's waist and rested like that for a little while-still sleep did not claim him.

Climbing out of the bed of furs carefully so that Susan wouldn't be bothered, Peter slipped on his coat and boots, sighing heavily. No sooner had he stuck his head out of the tent-flap than he realized that it was a terribly stupid thing to do-to try to take a walk here. If Lyra and Lucy were in danger of being taken away by hunters and sold to Bolvangar just because they had unsettled dæmons, how much more so was _he_ having no dæmon at all? He thought of grabbing Doe, his usual decoy, but for some reason or other, he decided to let the cat sleep.

Iorek Byrnison was out there, he saw, standing at the top of a hill without his armour, looking out at the vast lands before them and the stars twinkling above.

"A bear ought to be a match for a couple of hunters if they turn out to be enemies." Peter whispered to himself, stepping out of the tent and going over to stand beside Iorek.

"The man with no dæmon," Iorek Byrnison greeted him, not unkindly.

"Yes." said Peter, looking out at the barrenness of the icy valleys before them, wondering how they would ever make it to Bolvangar, knowing that even that was only half the battle.

"Iorek! Peter!" The snow behind them crunched and shuffled; a breathless girl, her hair all tucked back into her woolen cap, and her dæmon still in the form of an ermine at her side, ran up to them.

"Lyra, what are you doing outside the tent?" Peter's brows sank in deeply, finding that while he didn't have quite as deep an attachment to this child as he did to Lucy, he still felt brotherly and protective of her. He didn't want her to get lost or hurt; he wanted her to stay still and obey orders-two things she seemed quite incapable of doing.

"The alethiometer keeps telling me something," said Lyra, ignoring Peter's curt observation. "about a little house over in the next valley-it's haunted or something..."

Peter blinked at her, saying nothing, and Iorek merely cocked his head curiously.

"But you could take me there, couldn't you, Iorek?" Lyra pressed. "You could get me there and back before anybody even knew I'd gone, couldn't you?"

"You..." the bear's white brows furrowed as he spoke. "...you wish to _ride_ me?"

"Yeah!" Lyra said adamantly.

"We will travel faster without armour." Iorek said finally, after a moment of silence. "It will only be a very short trip...then right back to camp."

"You're not going alone." Peter told her.

"I aint!" Lyra insisted. "I got Iorek."

"You've got me, too," said Peter. "I'm coming with you-if that's all right with Iorek, of course."

The bear didn't have any problem with that. Lyra was a small, barely noticeable load on his back, and Peter was a slender young man, nothing at all to a beast of his strength and size. Pan took the form of a teeny cream-coloured mouse and nestled in his lady's coat pocket, all tucked in for the ride.

They were more than half-way to the house Lyra was so eager to get a better look at when Iorek's pace slowed and they all looked up at something in the sky above them. A flock of sorts was flying above them at amazing speed.

"Are those birds?" Peter wondered aloud, digging his knees into Iorek's soft hide.

"Witches," Iorek answered, a little awestruck, it seemed. "More than I have ever seen."

"Where are they going?" asked Lyra, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

"They are flying to war," Iorek replied knowingly. "If they are flying to aid your enemies, you should all be afraid."

"Are _you_ afraid?" Lyra wanted to know, burying her mittens in the bear's fur-it was even better than a muff.

"No, I am not." said Iorek, picking up his pace again. "When I am, I shall master my fear."

"Look!" Peter pointed to something coming up behind the witches.

Hundreds and thousands of shooting stars were blazing across the sky; it looked like silver rain on a dark velvet canopy.

"Stars," breathed Lyra. "Do you think Ramandu's daughter's with 'em?" She had left their ship shortly after they docked to meet up with Lee Scoresby and Iorek.

"I don't know," Peter answered truthfully. All he did know at the moment was that, while Iorek might have no issues over mastering his fears, he wasn't sure the same necessarily applied for himself. In spite of everything, he didn't feel ready to fight.


	45. What have I done?

"What's that?" Peter blurted out suddenly, squinting his eyes to focus on a dark shape, a sledge, it seemed, coming towards them.

"Not the workers from Bolvangar?" Lyra gulped anxiously, reaching her hand into her pocket to caress Pantalaimon and be comforted.

"No," said Iorek, his nose to the wind, his great black lips tightening. "Hunters-and a couple of somebodies dressed like hunters, but not hunters-not Bolvangar folk, either."

"What are they?" demanded Peter, sounding cross from fear.

"The two who are not hunters?" Iorek blinked one eye, but not in a wink, just because a silvery eyelash had fallen into it. "Gyptians-not ours. Telmarines, like Caspian."

"We should turn back, then." said Peter, ignoring the sullen look that was beginning to replace Lyra's wince of anxiety. "We can't risk it; they'd sell us to Bolvangar as likely as not."

"It's too late," rumbled Iorek. "they've seen us. If we run, they'll be after us like hot pursuers-they'd come right into the Gyptians' camp and everyone would be endangered, including your sister and your wife."

"But they aint gonna get us!" Lyra said with more boldness than she actually felt, indignant with these hunters already.

"We may fare better if we simply stand our ground and fight-though I am wary at the thought of doing so with a young lady in tow." Iorek shuddered, his giant bear-shoulders shivering. It was not fear that upset his body, only hard anger and deep distain for these sorts of persons.

"I aint no _lady_!" Lyra gasped furiously, folding her arms across her chest and pouting her fullest, most enraged lip-purse.

" _Child_ in tow," Iorek amended for his own good and sanity.

The _child_ 's lips relaxed and she focused now, like Peter and Iorek were, on the sledge as it drew closer. It was brown, its sides made of rough, frost-bitten, wormwood and its smooth iron blades that flashed brightly in the moonlight seemed very out of place.

A fight ensued almost at once, as soon as Iorek and Peter were certain the men were not willing to talk to them, only to battle. And the odds were greatly in their favor, seeing as they had all the crossbows and furs and numbers needed. If it wasn't for Iorek's mighty paws crushing many spines and bloodying up plenty of jaws, he would have been skinned and Peter and Lyra sold to Bolvangar as little more than slaves in a heartbeat. The golden dust of dæmons going out like lights swirled madly. As it was, even without his armour, even without his soul so to speak, the white bear was powerful, and they were fools to fight him.

Unfortunately, while all the true arctic-bred hunters were injured or killed, thus rendered unable to harm them, the two Telmarines remained unharmed and got quite cocky. Their names were General Sopespian and General Glozelle (their dæmons were both Great Danes); they were ambassadors sent by Lord Miraz, Caspian's uncle, to the north to make deals with the hunters-perhaps hoping to get some sort of benefit for their clan by forging a friendship. Of course, because they were bought and paid-out, the natives were friends of Mrs. Coulter, and since she knew a great deal about dæmons, Miraz was suddenly glad enough of her friendship, too, betraying all fellow Gyptian clans she had repeatedly stolen children from. So they were joining the hunting party on this particular night, and seeing the bear crushing their new friends, suddenly thought it would be a great jest to snatch up the little girl-whom they did not know as Lyra Belacqua-and carry her off as a Telmarine Gyptian slave, a present for Lord Miraz.

Lord Miraz was, in fact, staying at a northern castle Mrs. Coulter's workers had given him for some reason or other. It was high up in the northern regions, a true winter palace with windows made with pretty swan-like engravings patterned to look like snowflakes and over a foot of snow near the doorway before the nobles shoveled it away each morning, but it was well south of Bolvangar and the native hunters.

The very second Peter's eyes were not on little Lyra and Iorek was busy splitting the lip of a particularly stubborn hunter with his claws, Sopespian grabbed the poor girl and covered her head with a sack so that her screams were muffled as they stole the natives' sledge and traveled back to Miraz's castle. She screamed and trashed a great deal, crying out for Iorek, for Peter, for anybody-for Farder Coram back at camp, for Lord John Faa, for someone who loved her and would save her. But no one heard and her absence was not realized until it was too late.

Needless to say, Peter was stricken with grief. How he had let the helpless little girl get taken away, kidnapped, without a better fight, without keener eyes, he never could understand-or forgive himself for. Iorek told him not to take all the blame upon himself; after all, _he_ was the great white bear, and he should have had keen senses over the whole matter. Peter didn't care; he had to save her. If they were Telmarine Gyptians, they would be going south, he had to go after them, he had to rescue Lyra. Not for the sake only of the fate of the world, but for the sake of friendship, she needed him now.

"But what about the children at Bolvangar?" asked Iorek, his shoulders slumped, broken over losing Lyra. "They need help, too."

"Lyra's meant to help save them," Peter said determinedly. "Besides, the others will keep on going, I'll leave a note back at camp for Susan, explaining everything and telling them to press on without me. We'll go south, Iorek, after those men, and find Lyra."

"Dangerous, but we would be ashamed to show less courage than that poor child." Iorek agreed, shaking his head.

"That kind of courage might just get us killed," Peter grimaced.

"But we shan't live in shame for the rest of our lives because we were too scared to save a brave soul."

"No," whispered Peter, his legs feeling numb and tense against the bear's hide. "I suppose not."

"They'll press on." sighed Iorek. "Just like you said; Lucy, at least, will get to Bolvangar-Edmund will help her."

"Yes, and Lord Faa and Farder Coram, they've been such perfect bricks. I must say something particularly nice about them in my note."

"It's going to be a hard journey south," Iorek warned him, just for argument's sake.

"Then we'd best get on as quickly as possible." Peter, as Iorek well knew already, was not to be deterred any more than he himself was.

At Miraz's winter palace, there was a fur-tent staked up and a small festival going on, the men merry with mirth and wine, laughing under their deerskin capes and purple woolen tights. No one seemed to care that the sun had just barely risen and yet at least eight people were dead drunk. Miraz, at least, was half-sober, but he wore a dopey-grin on his face as he sipped something strong, a kind of ale, from his silver braided-rimmed goblet.

"A gift for our leader!" A deep voice cried out as a sledge pulled up to the tent's entrance.

"Oh, god, Pan!" Lyra muttered under her breath as soon as the sack was removed from her head. "What we gonna do?"

"Don't worry, Peter will come!" Pantalaimon chirped from her pocket in a voice so low only his mistress could hear him.

Swallowing hard, Lyra looked around. At least a hundred, maybe even two hundred, men in well-polished armour and fine clothing. They all had swords and shields and crossbows and dozens of good weapons. There was no way in a million years Peter would be able to fight off all of them, not even with Iorek's help. Even if he got the whole blasted Gyptian camp to come down here with them, there was no chance of victory. None whatsoever. Peter would be killed or else captured and sold immediately upon his arrival.

"We've got to do something," Lyra murmured, her eyes locking with Miraz's dazed-faced men as Glozelle marched her down towards the long table where the most important Telmarines sat.

Miraz was a thin-faced, bearded, hard-looking man. Very ugly, at least to her taste, more pirate than Gyptian. Caspian shouldn't have been threatened by this perverted old goat. Goodness knew he was insane; wanting a human-form dæmon and all that! Suddenly it struck Lyra-exactly what she had to do. It was brillant, it wouldn't fail! Miraz was as good as conquered.

"Pan," whispered Lyra, loosening the ribbon under her chin that held her wool cap in place as soon as her arms were released. "keep hidden in my pocket for a while longer, don't let them see you."

"Fine with me!" For once, it was a good thing her dæmon was such a coward.

"We can beat him, Pan." Lyra said softly, biting her lower lip to force back a smile.

"Heh!" Miraz laughed when he saw Lyra up close. "What is this little thing?"

Lyra made a gorgeous curtsey, only wobbling once, and gazed up at him as if awestruck. "All greetings to you, great Lord Miraz."

He lifted an eyebrow, amused; and stroked his beard.

"Or rather," she made her eyes distant and troubled. " _my_ greetings and not his."

"Not whose?" chuckled Miraz, taking another sip from his goblet.

"Peter Pevensie's, your greatness." Lyra widened her eyes at him as if she expected him to have already known that, but was willing to pardon any misunderstandings for the sake of the wonder he stirred in her.

"Fah!" Miraz snorted, placing his goblet down heavily upon the table, his breakfast a little upset. "What have you to do with that nobody?"

Lyra smiled faintly and pulled off her wool cap all the way so that her bright brown curls fell all around her face. "I'm Peter Pevensie's dæmon."

A collective gasp rang through the tent, a few beast-dæmons growled, and Miraz looked like he might just explode from raw emotion. "What?"

"Yeah," said Lyra, all sweetness, all prettiness, all innocence and perfection. "that's right, I'm a dæmon."

"How!" Miraz bellowed passionately, rattling half the tent with his fury. "How has a man professed to have no dæmon at all gotten a human for a dæmon? How? Tell me!"

"Oh, _that_!" Lyra forced a giggle as if trying to calm him. "It's simple, really. Mrs. Coulter's figured out how to make dæmons out of Dust, they don't hate it no more. They can use it. She experimented on Peter, see, and gave me to him."

Miraz glanced over at his dæmon, Meena, a large green parrot perched behind him on the back of his chair, and then back at Lyra with such clear, cold envy in his greedy eyes that no one could possibly have missed it. He felt more than a little betrayed by Mrs. Coulter; why did Peter get to have a human dæmon? It should have been _him_! Not that nobody! True, a harmless little girl hadn't been exactly what he had in mind, but still, it was close enough.

"Hmm," sighed Lyra, as if she were reading his thoughts. "I agree, sir, it should have been _you_ , not him-I'd much rather be your dæmon."

Intrigued, Miraz leaned forward in his chair. "Eh? What's that?"

"You're clever, and rich, and better in every way-he's nobody, a worthless runaway from Bolvangar." Lyra made herself look forlorn. "That's why I'm so _glad_ your men took me here, see? Now we can talk and make arrangements for me to be your dæmon."

"Supposing I kill your master?" Miraz mused, rubbing the hilt of his sword as he spoke.

"He _is_ on his way," Lyra warned him. "He wants me back."

"Never!" Miraz boomed angrily. "My men will shoot him down!"

"No!" Exclaimed Lyra, putting out her palms towards him pleadingly. "You really mustn't! If you do that, I'll just go out like a light and you'll never, never have a human-dæmon."

He paused, his mouth open part-way, this was something of an impasse.

"And if I was your dæmon..." she grinned impishly. "...such fun we could have together...you'd still have your parrot there, but you'd have me, too! You'd be the most powerful man imaginable. We could do _anything_! We could teach Mrs. Coulter a lesson for ignoring your greatness, if you like. Or we could over-throw Lord John Faa and make you king of all the Gyptians, I suppose you'd like that?"

"What must I do to have you?" Miraz was determined and hooked, he simply _had_ to have Lyra, he would not let this chance slide away.

"If you kill Peter, then I will become your dæmon, but you must kill him in single combat. No other man must attack him-if they do, I'll disappear for ever, never to be yours." Lyra blurted out, her heart thudding now, her veins pulsing with the glory of the power she was holding over this man, controlling him with little more than a pinch of wit.

Miraz's nose wrinkled. "God! Is there no other way?"

She shook her head. "'fraid not, your greatness...does your bravery waver now? I should be disappointed to think it had."

"This is not a question of bravery." Miraz told her, furrowing his brows.

"So you're _bravely_ refusing to fight a young man half your age?" Lyra played idly with one of her ringlets as though genuinely confused over the matter.

"I didn't say I refused." Miraz glowered.

"Course not." Lyra beamed at him, trying to ignore Pantalaimon's little whimpers coming from her pocket. "Oh, you'd _never_!"

"I will fight your master." he said, smiling slyly at the lass. "But only if you prove to me you are telling the truth, that you really are a dæmon."

"Ask me something only you know," Lyra said without hesitating.

"How did I become the leader of this clan?" Miraz smirked, knowing full-well that it wasn't common knowledge.

Reaching into her pocket (not the one Pantalaimon was hiding in), Lyra pulled out her alethiometer, glad she had not left it at the camp when she'd gone off with Peter and Iorek.

"What's that?" someone demanded.

"No," shrieked Lyra, waving everyone away. "You mustn't look at it too hard! If you do, it'll be dangerous." She was afraid some smarty-pants would figure out it was an alethiometer and ruin everything. "It's a dæmon-mirror, only mine, don't look at it, look away!"

When everyone averted their eyes, Pantalaimon muttered, "I can't believe that worked." in disbelief.

She asked the alethiometer her question and saw poisoning, a hand pointed to the centaur with the arrow in his side again-death! Miraz poisoned his brother, the old clan leader, and took over! That was the answer! That was the truth!

"Oh, truly you are greater even than I knew at first," she cooed dreamily, walking up to his ear and whispering her answer. "You poisoned your brother."

"You are a dæmon!" He roared with joy. "But wait-how can you be so far from Peter?"

"Oh, I'm like a witch's dæmon-or else, a star's. I can go as far from him as I like." Lyra invented quickly, not shaken.

"Very well, then." Miraz nodded at her. "Soon we will be together, darling, we must prepare to fight your master and kill him at once."

At first, Lyra was nearly drunk on glee, thinking herself the winner. Miraz would not let his men shoot at Peter or stab him as long as he believed the young man had something that he wanted. But then, what if he proved handier with a sword, what if he was the stronger one? Oh, lord, he _was_! Lyra was broken-hearted as soon as she sat alone a few feet away from the tent, on a little icy boulder, pretending to meditate. Peter was going to die and it was all her fault! How could she have done this thinking she was helping him?

"Oh, Pan!" sobbed Lyra into her hands. "What have I done?"


	46. Of Reindeer and Rhindon

A thin trickle of winter sunlight sliced through the gap in the tent flap and landed on Susan's left eyelid, tickling her lashes and teasing her skin with a warmth it could not really provide. She opened her eyes half-way as Maugrim stretched his paws out in front of him and yawned his familiar doggish-yawn. Rolling over, she expected to see Peter on the bed beside her, but he wasn't there.

Sitting up, her forehead crinkling, she looked to Maugrim for answers though she knew he couldn't possibly be anymore aware of what was going on than she herself was. He was her dæmon after all.

"Maybe he's already gotten up, and went to talk to the Gyptians about something." suggested Maugrim.

"What's that?" Susan noticed a folded-up piece of card-paper on Peter's pillow.

Grunting, Maugrim went forward and grabbed it with his lips, careful not to let his sharp, wolf-teeth, sink into it, for fear of ruining its contents, whatever they were. Then he dropped it in his human's lap-where she picked it up and unfolded it. At first her face had been slightly flushed with intrigue, but now it darkened with horror as she put one hand to her heart and looked over at her dæmon with tears in her eyes.

"Something's happened to Lyra, she was kidnapped, and...and Peter's gone after her, he and Iorek both!" Susan cried out, not knowing what to do. "He wants us to keep going," She stopped for a moment, read the note again, and then sighed, "But how _can_ we? How can we go on without him? He could be hurt, Maugrim, even with Iorek's protection! He barely even knows where he's going-oh, he could be killed! What the devil is the _matter_ with him? He should have woken us last night and...ooh! I swear that man will be the death of me!" Furiously, she crumbled the paper, tossed it on the ground and gave it a swift kick. The tears struck once more and she hastily snatched it up, holding it like it was an injured creature that needed her help, smoothed it out, and read it again.

Upon reading Peter's note-the crumbled little mess Susan had handed to him, not without an apologetic reddening of her cheeks-Lee Scoresby decided to delay the party and finish fixing up his air-ship.

"We're already greatly delayed because of losing Peter and Iorek-everyone was lookin' for them this morning, you slept in a little late." he explained shortly, not because he was cross, rather because he was in a bit of a hurry. "And I can take Lucy and Edmund up in my ship, the Gyptians following along on the ground. Besides, I reckon you'll need the reindeer?"

"Whatever for?" Susan asked, puzzled.

"If Lyra was taken by Telmarines, I thought Caspian'd be eager enough to see if he couldn't go after Peter, bargain with his relatives, and I reckoned you'd want to go with him-talk some sense into your husband before things get out of hand."

"But Caspian's own uncle wants to kill him!" Susan protested, Maugrim half-growling at Hester out of irritation. "Why would Lord Miraz's men listen to him?"

"Maybe they aren't gonna," said Lee Scoresby. "but they'd likely sooner listen to _him_ than to a dæmonless stranger who comes charging into their territory with a big whooping armoured bear."

Susan's nose wrinkled and she winced as if in sharp physical pain. Part of her was aching to go after Peter but another part of her was frightened, and so she sheepishly added, "Who will look after Lucy?"

"Everyone here, myself, and Edmund besides." he answered, his mustache twitching in time with his dæmon's nose as he spoke.

"You're right, Mr. Scoresby, I'm being a coward." sighed Susan, bending down and griping Maugrim's fur tightly for reassurance. "But can we really follow them on a reindeer?"

"Haven't got much choice, do you reckon?"

"No, of course I haven't," Susan whispered, thinking of her beloved husband being shot down by Telmarine arrows, wanting both to embrace him weeping, kissing his cheek, and to slap him across the face very hard at the same time. "He's doing this for Lyra, and I have to do this for _him_."

Which was why, less than thirty minutes later, Emeth was carefully strapping a western horse-saddle (borrowed from Lee Scoresby) to the white reindeer's back. They weren't sure how well the beast would take to being ridden like a hunting-steed, but they really hadn't the time to ponder over it and debate the pros and cons; a reindeer was what they had, and a reindeer was what they would have to use. At any rate, it was a very beautiful saddle made from the real strong sort of dark leather that gives off a soothing, rather potent smell, and its sides were inlaid with threads of gold and silver to form an L and an S. Emma, Emeth's dæmon, watched her master perform his duties with grace and silence, nodding to Caspian and Susan when the beast was properly tacked up.

"Bring him back safe, okay?" Lucy said to her sister-in-law with wide, pleading, desperate eyes, holding Reepicheep in the form of a little sleek ebony-black cat in her arms.

"I promise," swore Susan, though her heart thumped, thinking she might fail and lose him for ever even after all they'd been through. He might not be killed by Lord Rabadash like in her nightmares but being shot down by Telmarine archers or thrown on the mercy of Telmarine guards to rot in a prison cell wasn't really much of a step up.

Assisted by Emeth, Caspian mounted the reindeer and a Gyptian fellow with a black pony-tail and bushy eyebrows handed him the red-leather reins.

Embracing her brother in farewell, Susan whispered, "Edmund, promise me you'll look after Lucy-" she choked back a sob of fear. "-no matter what happens, promise you will do whatever it takes...mercy knows I couldn't stand her being lost, too, if Peter..." She couldn't finish the thought without becoming overly emotional, so she stopped it there knowing Edmund would understand anyway.

"Don't worry, Su," Edmund whispered, clinging to her as though he couldn't quite will himself to let go of his sister yet. "She's safe with me."

Ella was perched on Maugrim's back, resting her feathery head lightly against his bristled grey fur, glancing up just as Caspian's sea-gull landed on one of the reindeer's antlers, ready to get going.

"You'll have to go now, Maugrim, dear." whispered Ella, getting off of him and flying back to her human's shoulder where she belonged.

Teary-eyed, Susan let go of Edmund at last, not able to bear looking back at him as Caspian took her hand and swung her into the saddle behind him. Gulping, she slipped her arms around his waist, trying to focus on Maugrim at the Reindeer's side and think about how sorry she was that the poor wolf-dæmon would have to run along after them the whole way, and how tired he-and she-would surely be by the time this was all over. She thought of these things so that she didn't have to think anymore of Peter and how frightened she was for him.

At Miraz's castle, Lyra was more miserable than ever as she despaired. Under her beloved, familiar winter coat, she wore a handsome long garment of silver thread and brown velvet, and there was a thin wire-like circlet of gold around her forehead just above her brow. This splendor was all showered on her because the whole of the Telmarine clan now believed she was to be the future second-dæmon of their leader, Lord Miraz. Needless to point out, she didn't enjoy it, never having been one to like wearing pretty clothes or to admire finery. Soon Peter would come; soon Peter would be killed by Miraz. Her little heart was breaking and her head ached terribly. How would they ever get out of this? She wanted to cry again but she didn't let herself. She had to be glad, to be happy, to pretend to be pleased and excited to become Miraz's dæmon. Oddly enough, she was so worried over Peter's life that she didn't even consider what would happen to her once Miraz figured out she had lied to him. There would be time enough to worry about herself later on. Now she could only think of one problem at a time. Oh why had she ever let this happen? She might just as soon have kept her big mouth shut. Wait, no, that would have been just as dangerous because then he would have been killed even quicker. Still, what good was she really doing him by merely stretching out his death by a few measly minutes? And that was only if they were lucky! Peter had probably never handled a sword in his life.

Maybe she should have said she was Iorek's dæmon instead. Miraz wouldn't have stood a chance against a bear; but what idiot would believe that Bolvangar had experimented on a bear? Well, Miraz, actually, since he always heard only what he wanted to hear and believed only what he wanted to believe. Yet, it was too late to think of saying anything of the sort now. Everyone thought her to be Peter Pevensie's dæmon, there was nothing else to be done about the matter.

Over the snowy-hills, after what felt like for ever and a day, came the shape of an armoured bear carrying a young, golden-headed man on his back. Iorek and Peter had arrived.

"What if that coward dare not fight me?" Miraz jested merrily, smiling at Lyra.

She bowed to him. "O Great Miraz, let me go and speak to him-if I do, he will not suspect-"

A wicked grin spread across the Gyptian nobleman's thin, greedy face. "You go to him, give him courage, bring him to his death. Soon you'll be mine."

She curtseyed and dashed off towards Peter as quickly as her legs would carry her. Of course she thought of grabbing onto his hand and using it as a ladder to pull herself up onto Iorek's back and then telling him to run like the wind, but the archers would have started shooting and the results would have been fatal.

As he slipped down from the white bear's back to see Lyra running towards him dressed like a Gyptian princess, her eyes glittering with tears, the gold on her forehead shinning like a halo in the noontime sun, Peter squinted his eyes and took a step back, thinking he surely must be dreaming.

The next thing he knew, two little arms were thrown around his waist and the front of his fur coat and leather jerkin were stained with snot and tears as the little girl holding onto him wept into the lower part of his chest as though she couldn't make herself stop.

"Oh, Peter, Peter," she bawled, making her grip tighter still. "I've done a terrible thing."

"Shh...there, there," Peter gently stroked the top of her curly head. "Don't cry, Lyra. What terrible thing?"

Pulling away from him and staring up into his eyes, she choked out, "I told Miraz I was your dæmon and that he must fight you-if I hadn't, they wouldn't have let either of you come this far, they would have killed you with arrows the second you came into view."

She waited for his anger, for his rage, but none came. He was a little frightened at the prospect of fighting a trained swordsman when he himself had never so much as held a sword before, but he hid it well, letting his amusement shine through. "Oh, Lyra, you little imp!" He hugged her again, sighing deeply.

"You are a clever one, Lyra Belacqua." said Iorek, grinning at her with his large black lips. Then his expression changed and he added, "Belacqua? No. That's not right. You are Lyra Silvertongue."

"Come," Peter took Lyra's hand in his and started marching closer to where Lord Miraz was standing. "Little dæmon."

Meanwhile, the reindeer was making good time dashing through the snow, heading southwards towards Miraz's castle, not seeming to mind that there were two people on his back, a dæmon-gull still on his antlers, and that they had to stop every few miles to give poor Maugrim a chance to catch his breath.

It was at one of these breaks in the canters (if that is the proper way to describe a reindeer's second topmost speed) that a strange thing occurred. A star, all blues and golds, came shooting down, yes, even in the broad daylight, and landed with a flash of pale purple in front of them, standing before the reindeer in the form of a lady. Not just any star-lady, either, but Ramandu's daughter in all her golden glory. Her yellow hair was hidden by the hood of the crimson cloak she wore over her shimmering gown of silvery-sapphire, and her soft, milk-coloured hands stroked the reindeer's nose consolingly so that he would not buck or attempt to run away.

"It's you!" cried Caspian's seagull, overcome with emotion at recognizing the woman he and his master had so admired when they had met before.

"Yes," said Ramandu's daughter. "it is I."

"Why do you come to us now?" asked Susan, slipping down from the saddle and onto the ground, letting Maugrim lean against her legs so that he did not pass out from exhaustion and shock.

"Because I can help you," the star maiden told her hastily, reaching into the folds of her cloak and pulling out a sword covered by a scabbard of ruby-and-jade. "This sword bears the name Rhindon." She quickly thrust it in Susan's direction, signaling for her to take it and strap it to the belt she wore around her dress under her coat. "There is to be a duel with Miraz today. If Peter is to survive it in one piece, perhaps even come off victorious, he must use Rhindon; you will bring it to him."

"A duel?" Caspian repeated dumbly. "Why is he going to duel with my uncle?"

"Tis a long story," said Ramandu's daughter. "and I haven't the time to tell it, I must go. And you, if you both do not keep on riding towards Miraz's winter castle, you may not make it in time."

"Thank you for your help." Susan said shortly, throwing her sore, tired legs-one that still ached from the cord-grass cut on top of everything else-back astride the reindeer.

Quickly she dug her heels into his snow-coloured sides to make him start galloping (if that is the correct term for a reindeer's run) because Caspian was momentarily a bit too awestruck by the star maiden's great beauty to comprehend the seriousness of the situation, and though Ramandu's daughter _spoke_ of leaving right away, she stood still for longer than she should have, gazing at the man who looked so very much like the lover she'd once had all those generations ago. It wasn't until several miles later that Caspian's face stopped looking dazed and lovesick and shaped into something remotely normal again.

The duel had already gotten prepared to start; Miraz in brass armour with a funny-looking mask coming down from his helmet, and Peter in silver armour, chain-mail, and holding a borrowed sword. Lyra stood by Iorek, curling her fingers around a small tuff of white fur she was clinging to, and biting her lip anxiously. Every now and again, she would wink over at Miraz just to mask her true desire-that Peter win the duel, impossible though it was.

It was a very good thing indeed that Peter turned out to have some natural raw talent at sword-fighting in spite of the fact that he'd never done it before. If he hadn't, he would have laid dead at Miraz's feet in less than five minutes. As it was, he kept the middle-aged goat on his feet, making good use of his smaller shape and quicker legs in addition to his slashes with the blade. Unfortunately, Miraz was not quite the dim-wit he seemed, much as that may be hard to believe, and it hadn't taken him long to realize that his opponent only had a vague idea of what he was doing and how to hold the sword and how to wield it, and a million other details like that. Peter obviously knew no tricks and Miraz used that against him.

Twenty minutes into the fight, Peter was breathless, sweaty, and had a hurt arm from when Miraz had, seeing that the young man wasn't holding his shield at the best angle, made the most of his extra weight by pushing it into his worn-out limb. A thin stream of blood poured out from a slight break in the chain-mail as well-Miraz had gotten first blood.

Hearing the thudding of hooves approaching their fighting-place, Peter glanced up and saw Caspian and Susan coming towards him ridding on the back of Lee Scoresby's reindeer. Susan looked pale and Maugrim looked frazzled and drained.

For a moment he forgot about the fact that he was in the middle of a duel until Miraz sneered, "Does the nobody need a respite?"

Peter swallowed hard and managed to gasp out, "Five minutes? Please?"

"Three!" Miraz hissed, much more pleased with himself than one would have suspected from his demeanor, certain he would finish off Peter and take Lyra for himself in no time at all.

Groaning in pain, Peter stumbled away, shuffling over to Susan who all but flung her weary self off of the reindeer and threw her arms around him.

"Ouch!" Peter moaned, his face tightening with an intense wince.

She let go. "I'm sorry," The part of her that was angry with him had melted away the moment she saw him in actual pain.

"It's all right," said Peter. "What are you doing here? Where's Lucy?"

"She's fine-still heading towards Bolvangar." Susan told him, reaching for the sword the star had given her. "And this," She handed it to him and kissed his cheek. "This is for you."

"What's this?" Peter murmured.

"It is called a _sword_." Caspian snipped sarcastically, probably a little jealous that Peter was the one fighting his uncle, feeling that it was supposed to be _his_ fight, really.

"A star gave it to us," Susan explained, tears springing up into her eyes at how hopeless everything was becoming. Peter had already been fighting; logically, he couldn't win now. He was going to be hurt-he was going to...going to die... "She said you must use it or that you would never beat Miraz."

"Susan, I'd better get back in there," whispered Peter, leaning close to her ear. "but if anything happens to me, if I don't come back, I want you to know that you were right."

"Right about what?" Susan asked, crying.

He kissed her on the mouth. "Life _is_ like a stream."

"Oh..." Susan sobbed, reaching up to touch his face one last time. "...I can't be losing you again...not now..."

"You aren't losing me," Peter promised her. "I love you no matter what-even if I'm not around to tell you so."

"Oh, god, Peter, don't you think she knows that?" Maugrim whimpered as Susan began pulling away from her husband.

"Yeah, I just wanted to say it again." he smiled weakly and turned away, walking back over to Miraz, Rhindon in hand.


	47. What Lyra finds

"Are you ready to die?" Miraz hissed as soon as Peter was in ear-shot of him again.

"What makes you think I'm going to be the one who dies?" Peter tried, attempting mind-games with the man as if that would somehow help swing the odds in his favor.

"I think you're bluffing," Miraz replied flatly.

"If I am bluffing, I'm bluffing," said Peter, putting his hand on Rhindon's hilt, slowly curling his fingers around it. "If I'm not-well..."

"You seem like a _clever_ nobody." Miraz sighed. "Pity you could never amount to anything, really."

He drew out Rhindon, amazed at how perfect, how _right_ , it felt in his hands. It was just the exact weight and length for Peter to use properly and smoothly; easy even for a beginner swordsman to wield. Of course, a clumsy person with no talent wouldn't have done well, even with Rhindon, but someone like Peter, with all that raw ability just waiting to be unleashed...well, who could say? At the very least, Miraz had a much harder time getting slashes in once Peter swung Rhindon instead of the borrowed Telmarine sword he'd been using before.

After a while of warding off blows, Peter started to realize how tiring it was when two men, one with experience and one with a good sword, fought each other and did not leave time for any more respites. This would surely either go on for ever, or, more likely, he would slip from exhaustion, down onto his aching knees, and Miraz would finish him off. It was simply that Miraz just could not be beaten. He couldn't be beaten, there was no way of getting at him when he was on his guard and knew what he wanted, but he could be tricked. Lyra had tricked him, had she not? She had exploited his desire for a human-form dæmon; she had gotten him to fight a man he would have never given the time of day for if she hadn't used her wits to intervene. What could Peter use to trick him now and save his own life? Well, Miraz was rather a bully, wasn't he? Always eager to win and laugh about it, to get what he wanted and boast afterwards. Supposing he thought things were going his way, that Peter was weakening at an even quicker rate than he really was?

Groaning loudly, Peter staggered backwards from Miraz and held Rhindon slightly askew, as though his arm was hurt. Practically beaming with delight, Miraz reached out and slapped him on the shoulder with the flat of the blade, not to kill him, but to humiliate him first.

Biting his lip and squinting like a mad-man, Peter made his swallows harder, pretending that his throat was closing on him, panting and shuddering.

"Oh, Iorek!" Cried Lyra, aghast as she watched the duel, not knowing any more than Miraz did that most of Peter's current actions were mere play-acting, not all of it being real pain. "What's he doing? Why doesn't he fight back? He's _hurt_ , isn't he? Oh, this is all my fault, I've-I've...oh, Pan, look what we've done."

Susan bit her lower lip until she tasted blood, feeling like she was watching a Zeppelin crash in slow motion. He wasn't moving right, he wasn't going to make it! Miraz was taking it slowly but would have him dead in less than five minutes once he'd beaten the pride out of the poor defeated young man. Salty tears dropped from her eyes like rain and made her lips burn; a few simply froze to her face and stayed there for a while. She didn't have the will-power or mind to brush them away just then.

"I'm disappointed, you bluffer." Miraz taunted, smacking Peter with the flat of the blade again. "Is that all you've got? This victory was too easy, even for my liking. Is that all?"

Peter didn't answer, he blinked up at him with unfocused eyes and swallowed, pretending to grasp for air.

Miraz reached down and smacked him across the face with his own armour-covered hand, laughing hard. "Is that all?"

Clutching at Rhindon, Peter fought back a half-smirk and waited for his chance.

"Is that _all_?" Miraz bellowed, nearly out of his mind with laughter-hollers, speaking almost at the top of his lungs so that everyone present could hear.

Now! Thought Peter-reaching up and grabbing onto the man's arm and using it as a ladder to pull himself back up, then jabbing Rhindon into his chain mail exposed arm-pit. It struck a nerve and Miraz fell to the ground, paralyzed, closer to death from shock than from actual injury, but in a fatal situation that would result in the end of his life all the same.

"Yes," Peter said quietly, not shouting as his opponent had. He was speaking to the dying Gyptian, not the crowds. "That is all." He closed his eyes and then opened them again. "That is all."

Overcome with a sudden rush of joy, Lyra let out a girlish scream and threw her arms around Iorek's neck. "Oh, Iorek-dear, Iorek! He's done it! Peter's won after all!"

Pantalaimon, sensing it was safe to come out now that Miraz was either dead or else as close to it as one could possibly get before the final stage hit, shifted into a large fire-fly blazing with warm golden light and burst out of his human's pocket.

"Maugrim, look!" Susan wept for gladness, whipping her icy tears away at last. "He's all right."

"Good," said Maugrim gruffly, hiding his relief, which in reality was just as great as that of his mistress; his fur relaxing and his jaw unclenching.

There were cries of cheers; no one except for maybe his own wife had really liked Lord Miraz as it turned out, and they were all glad enough that the estate of the winter castle was now handed over to Caspian who was their leader in his dead father and uncle's places. Although he was at first bitter that it was Peter, a dæmonless man without so much as a drop of Gyptian blood in his veins, who had defeated his uncle, Caspian soon came to terms with it and was more grateful than angry when all was finally said and done and the battle-dust settled.

That night, after a quick victory feast (everyone was feeling rather hungry), they were all to sleep in the grandest of rooms in the winter palace, and then Caspian, Lyra, Susan, Peter, and Iorek were going back north towards Bolvangar to meet up with their original Gyptian traveling party.

Susan giggled when she saw the size of the fireplace in the bed chamber she and Peter were to have for the night, sighing that if her mother could see her now, decked-out in a fine silken gown and resting in a room like this, sipping from a crystal, gold-rimmed wineglass, she might not think that her daughter had made such a poor choice of lifestyle after all.

"Well, need I remind you that none of this is actually mine?" Peter chuckled into his own wineglass (he was having a little more than Susan was, simply to dull whatever sharp pains remained from his duel with Miraz so he could have a pleasant evening). "Caspian's the one who's suddenly come into more wealth than he knows what to do with."

Maugrim's ears twitched and he snorted, "Oh, that's not her point!"

"Peace, Maugrim," Peter laughed, shaking his head. "Between the two of you I just can't seem to do anything wrong, can I? I don't have a dæmon, I was a _charity_ scholar for four years, I don't own any of what I'm able to give you, and yet you both act as if I'm a high king or something."

Susan sighed, pulled him down onto the oriental rug in front of the hearth, and whispered, "That's because I love you. I don't care about any of that nonsense."

"I wanted to apologize for scaring you today, Susan," Peter whispered, pulling his arms around her, placing his wineglass down. "I caught that look on your face when I was pretending Miraz had gotten me. It broke my heart, you know."

"I thought I was losing my husband," said Susan brokenly. "How could anybody have possibly missed my pain?"

"You can forgive me?" Peter wiggled his brows at her and shot her his most pathetic pleading-look.

"Of course," Susan murmured, leaning into his body, unable to remember the last time she'd felt this warm this far up north. "You're alive-what could console me better than that?"

"Ah, I knew that logic of yours would swing in my favor one day." he joked.

"You would cry if something happened to me, wouldn't you?"

"No," said Peter, sounding a little too sure of himself for her liking.

"Why not?" she pouted.

"I might cry if you ever left me," he replied. "but if anything ever _happened_ to you, I wouldn't live long enough to do so-I'd probably have a break-down and die."

"Humph!" said Maugrim, his eyes open in half-way slits. "Silly lovers' talk; don't pay him any mind over it, Susan, maybe he'll stop and be serious for a moment if you ignore him."

"Oh, shut it, Maugrim." Susan's sensible mind was almost totally within her dæmon at the moment, whatever sentimentality she had in her body throbbing, charmed. "It's romantic."

"Romantic," Maugrim repeated sarcastically, unmoved.

"Maugrim?" Susan mumbled as her husband started kissing her neck.

"Wall?" sighed the wolf, knowing what she meant.

"Yes." she answered, resting flat on her back now and gently pulling Peter on top of her as he worked his way up from kissing her neck to kissing her now-closed eyelids and started caressing her shoulders.

Obediently, Maugrim looked away, flattening his ears so as to muffle the familiar moans and sighs and annoyingly-constant whispers of "I love you" that always came at these sort of moments.

In another bed chamber, Lyra cradled her alethiometer in her palms as she sat by her own fireplace. Her face was sweating, little beads rolling down from her forehead to her chin, but the rest of her was racked with shivers. Now that Miraz was defeated, her mind had turned back to the little house in the snow-valley Iorek had been taking her to when she was kidnapped. There was still something the matter with it, something the golden compass was trying to tell her, and she simply _had_ to know what it was. She couldn't sleep for fear of seeing nothing but the valley within the darkness of her closed eyes and waking with tears of dismay on her face from uncertainty.

It was getting quite unbearable, and Lyra wasn't sure how much longer she could wait. And supposing they didn't have a chance to pass by the house and take a look 'round to be sure everything was alright when they went back northwards again. Could she possibly stand missing it? She knew she couldn't. Not when it was clearly something she needed to see through; maybe even something or some _one_ who needed her.

Iorek could take her tonight, she decided, getting up and taking off her pale white-gold silk dressing-gown, replacing it with a fur-lined parka. And she slid on a pair of thick, crimson snow-boots in place of the dainty silver-coloured satin slippers the kindly Telmarine serving-maids had provided her with. Pulling her wild hair back into a tight knot for no other reason than to stuff the whole lot of it inside a thick wool cap, she swept out of the room and down towards the stables where Iorek was resting a few feet away from the reindeer.

"Iorek?" his eyes were closed and she wondered if he was sleeping.

One eye peeked at her, and from the unglazed look in it, she gathered he hadn't really been asleep, only resting. "Yes?" he grumbled, not unkindly. "What is it, child?"

"Do you remember where we were going before?" Lyra whispered urgently. "The little troubled house in the snow valley?"

"Yes," said Iorek.

"Couldn't we go there now?" she asked softly. "Tonight? Before anyone else knows we've left? We could be back a little after dawn if we went fast, couldn't we?"

"I'd like it better if Peter was coming with us," Iorek told her. "There's safety in numbers."

"Oh, but think about it like this:" said Lyra, having-surprisingly-thought it all out. "if it's just me and you, you'll only have one human to look after if something happens-not two. So you'd be better able to protect me."

"Very well," said Iorek, still sounding a bit uncertain. "but only if I get someone's consent to take you off like this."

Lyra's nose wrinkled. "Who's?"

"Someone in charge of you." Iorek answered shortly.

"Lord Faa and Farder Coram are sort of in charge of me," she said. "but they aint here."

"What about Caspian?" the white bear suggested. "I don't like to make the same mistake more than once, and taking you off like this again..."

"I aint askin' Caspian for nuffin!" Lyra huffed, indignant. "He's not _that_ much older than me-he's probably just the same age as Peter!"

Pantalaimon, a little fluttering brown moth at her side, whispered, "Oh, Lyra, Iorek isn't going to take us-let's go back to sleep."

"Stop it, Pan!" Lyra hissed. To Iorek-she added, "Please? I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. Remember I found out about it from the _alethiometer_!"

Iorek let out a low growl, then, after a moment of the little girl shrinking back only ever so slightly, still staring at him pleadingly, he gave in. "I'll take you."

Gleefully, she clambered up onto his back and clung tightly to a bit of his thick, soft white fur as he bounded off. Pantalaimon sat at his human's side on the bear, in the form of an ermine, his little black claws holding in a very firm-set manner to Lyra's parka.

Hours later, when they finally reached the house, she jumped off, ignoring the stiff feeling in her thighs. Her dæmon shifted into a grey pole cat and followed timidly.

The house was the colour of pale yellowish curdled cream, two of its sides in the shadows striking the eye as a darker shade, with peeling paint and weather-beaten, white-washed windowsills. More of a shack for tools than a home, it loomed out of place sticking out from the snow under the arctic stars.

Wary, Iorek said, "I will check to see if the coast is clear."

"No," Lyra said quickly, suddenly feeling as if this was something that concerned only herself and Pantalaimon. "Wait here."

Shivering although she wasn't actually any colder than usual, she slowly started taking little steps forward; the snow crunched lightly under her boots. Pan whimpered and stuck by her heels, hoping she'd become as afraid as he was and turn around, cowardly as such an action would have been. Finally, they came to the frost-covered front door and Lyra reached out to push it open.

"No!" Pantalaimon bellowed, unable to stand it any longer, springing up into his human's arms and placing his paws on her chest. "Please don't! There's something terrible-we shouldn't have come! Please, Lyra, I'm scared. I'm sorry, but I'm _afraid_."

Comforting her dæmon by slipping her arms around his pudgy little cat-body, cradling him in her parka's sleeves, Lyra remembered what Iorek said before when she had asked him if he was afraid of the witches flying to war. "We have to master our fear, Pan." With that, she stepped inside, hearing the snow-crusted soles of her boots scrape loudly against the dusty wooden floor.

"Hello?" she called, looking around.

There was no answer, not even the slightest sounds of life, but somehow she was positive that somebody-somebody who needed her help-was there, still waiting.

"Hello?" she tried again, pushing passed an old piece of meat someone had left hanging there from the thick ceiling beams until it rotted-probably ages ago from the looks-and smell-of it.

From behind came a rustle-there was a little body under a blanket in a cot placed in the far left corner of the room. Whirling around, Lyra turned at the very moment that the little person pulled the blanket off of their head and looked up at her with a slack-jawed, agape expression about them.

If she was a very different sort of girl, she would have fainted. Lyra never fainted, though. She just stood there, staring, disbelieving. She had been longing to see him, missing him, even occasionally crying for him when she was alone, but she didn't want to meet him like this. Not like this.

He was a little boy, only a head or so shorter than Lyra though they were very close in age. He did not do any of the things he ought to have done upon seeing her; he did not leap up and cry, "Lyra!" or seem at all glad she had come. No, judging from the blank look in his sad little eyes, he did not even recognize her.

"Roger," Lyra swallowed hard, feeling like she was drowning.

Pantalaimon jumped out of her arms and onto the floor, franticly searching for someone. "Salcilia? Where are you?"

"Oh, god," It couldn't be...this wasn't really happening...this was only a dream...it had to be...it just _had_ to.

"I can't find her!" Pantalaimon gasped, practically hyperventilating. "She's not here, Lyra! Roger hasn't got a dæmon!"

"No!" Lyra felt the tears streaming down her face and the snot dripping out of her nose, landing on her chapped lips and making them smart.

"I dunno where my dæmon's got to." Roger croaked weakly, talking more to himself than to them. "I miss her."

Sobbing uncontrollably, Lyra threw herself onto the cot beside him and flung her arms around his cold, shivering little body. "Oh, Roger."

"Who're you?" he mumbled, confused.

"Roger, it's me," she wept, still holding him. "it's Lyra."

No reaction, no response, nothing-nothing at all.

"Lyra," she said again, releasing him from her embrace and cupping his pale, sickly face in her hands. "Roger, you got to remember me, you got to!"

"You seen Salcilia?"

"What have they done to you?" she bawled, edging away now. "I'll kill them for this."

"I need her," Roger's lower lip was trembling.

"Roger, come with me," Lyra took his hand in hers and pulled him up. "Come with me now."

"I can't." He started resisting just a little bit.

"Roger, it's Lyra, and I'm going to take you some place safe...not here...we'll find your dæmon...I promise." Brokenly, she remembered the last promise she'd made to him-that if he was kidnapped she'd come and rescue him.

"How's she gonna know where I've gone?"

"She will," Lyra lied, for the first time feeling guilty for it. "She will."

Dawn came and the sun started to rise over the winter castle that was no longer Miraz's. Susan opened one eye, then instantly shut it and moaned. She was in bed now, no longer in front of the fire, but for some reason, she didn't feel so well-her stomach felt like there was an absurdly large goldfish doing summersaults in it.

I probably just had too much wine last night or something, she thought-in spite of the fact that she'd had hangovers before and they didn't feel anything like this.

"Susan?" Peter whispered, figuring out that she was awake.

"I don't feel well," she murmured.

"Alright, you rest, I'll take care of what ever packing needs to be done." He yawned and climbed out of the bed, changing from his nightclothes and putting on a pair of boots. "Do you feel well enough to travel?"

"I don't know," she mumbled into her pillow, Maugrim letting out a low growl. "Ask me in an hour, okay?"

"Sure." he planted a quick kiss on her forehead and then turned to look out the window. Much to his surprise, Iorek was coming up over the hill towards the side of the castle where the stables were, carrying what looked like Lyra and some other child he couldn't identify at first. "By Jove! What on earth..."

He went down the stairs and through at least four corridors until he reached the stables and Lyra.

"Good heavens, what happened to you?" Peter noticed her dirty, tear-stained face, Pan-as an ermine-looking limp, and was instantly anxious. "What have you found?"

"She's found a half-child." Iorek told him gravely, shaking his great bear-head.

"I found Roger," Lyra whispered, tears coming all over again as she helped the poor weakling down behind her. "Roger Parslow-my friend."

"Roger!" Peter recognized him now and recoiled in horror, remembering what happened to Jill.

"Bolvangar's days are numbered." Lyra said bitterly, looking very hard at Peter as if asking him to help her smash them.

"You bet they are." he replied coldly.


	48. Surnames and Fear

Marching up the steep, snow-covered hill at a rapid pace, Lord Asriel took a deep breath and reached towards his reddened-from-cold face to take off his fur-rimmed snow-goggles and look around at the barren, icy world ahead of him.

"We shall have to watch ourselves, Stelmaria," he chuckled to his dæmon in a rather irony-filled tone. "You can bet that Coulter woman has her hunters watching for us like hawks."

Just as the snow leopard opened her white muzzle to speak, she was startled by a shot fired at her human's feet. Knowing that they had been spotted and not intending to wait around for the next bullet to be fired off, Lord Asriel started running, Stelmaria just behind him.

The hunters popped out of all sides, their fur-hooded, black seal-skin coats showing up like dark ink blots on a blank sheet of paper. Their rifles were long and thin, and very powerful. Another bullet flew; Asriel dodged this one as well, jumping down into a blue-coloured, ice-wall ditch. His feet hit the ground hard and the soles of his boots pressed into the bottom of his heels painfully, slowing him down, but only for a second.

A rather gory fight ensued; the hunters shot, Asriel leapt and spun with his quick-footed dæmon bounding at his side. The hunters got closer and so Asriel picked up his own rifle and cracked one of them across the face with it before running away again. Unfortunately, they had cornered him against a dead-end in the ditch and he couldn't keep going on that way. Not ready to give up, he dug his climbing hooks into the ice and tried to pull himself up. It was too slick and one of the hunters had grabbed his foot, their coyote-dæmon having pinned down his snow leopard.

"Don't kill him," a gruff voice ordered. "Mrs. Coulter didn't pay us to kill anyone, only to catch, the Ruling Powers will bring him to trial alive."

"Come on, let's be reasonable!" Lord Asriel protested as they dragged him off, acting as though he hadn't been fighting vindictively a couple of minutes before. "Can't we settle this like gentlemen?"

The coyote-dæmon hissed viciously and shot out a paw at Stelmaria.

"I'm going to take that as a 'maybe'." Lord Asriel decided.

Perhaps a mile or so east of where Lord Asriel was captured, high up in the bitterly cold, starry sky, was Lee Scoresby's air-ship. Resting behind the curtain, leaning her head on Edmund's shoulder, Lucy sighed heavily-she was worried about her brother, her sister-in-law, her half-sister, Caspian, and Iorek the armoured bear. Supposing something happened to them? What if they didn't come back safely? She couldn't possibly go on without them; yet, she had to. In a way, she already was. Neither Lee Scoresby's air-ship nor the Gyptian party traveling a-ways below them were even on the out-skirts of the Harfang district (that was nearly three weeks away still, due to the delay caused by Lyra being kidnapped and another one caused by a sudden wind-and-snow storm that had pushed them a bit off-course), but they were getting closer all the same. And every day they got nearer-for all they knew-they were leaving Peter and the others further behind.

"He'll be all right, Lu." Edmund tried to reassure her, his voice faltering even though he honestly believed in what he was saying. Perhaps he was just feeling worried, too. His own flesh-and-blood elder sister had taken off on a reindeer with no firm assurance of complete safety; so he knew how Lucy was feeling-and Lyra was _his_ half-sister as well.

"I hope so," whispered Lucy, fighting back a yawn.

Without really thinking about what he was doing, and how it might have made both of them very uncomfortable if they didn't know-and like-each other so well, Edmund reached over and picked up Reepicheep who was currently in the form of a little red panda no larger than a plump tom cat, cradling Lucy's dæmon in the folds of his arm, letting him nestle into his crossed doublet sleeves.

Feeling soothed and engulfed in warmth, Lucy reached out and ran her fingers along Ella's white feathers-they were so soft! Such a sweet dæmon her Edmund had...so pure and wise...so gentle to touch...

Within only a few moments, Ella was perched in Lucy's lap with as much ease as she would have had with her own human. Her snowy wings were palmed between Lucy's gloved hands and it did not feel out of place-there was no fear of the taboo now. Even when Ella's bird-claws sunk through her skirt into her flesh, she didn't care; it felt to Lucy as no more than her own fingernails pressing down into her skin accidentally, nothing at all to be alarmed about.

Edmund even fell asleep that way, with red panda form Reepicheep dozing on his thighs while he leaned his tired head against the side of the air-ship's rocking walls.

An hour or so later, Lee Scoresby pulled back the curtain to tell them they had just gotten an unexpected visitor and that they had to come out into the front of the air-ship at once and speak to her.

Needless to say, they were quite surprised that anyone would have been able to find and 'visit' them at this hour-and up in the sky, no less-but they came anyway, still glazed-eyed from sleep. Ella rode on Lucy's shoulder; and Edmund carried Reepicheep in his arms.

Their visitor, they saw now, was a dark-haired beauty-a witch woman; dressed in blues, purples, and grays. It was the same Witch Queen who had visited Farder Coram on-board the Dawn Treader, Serafina Pekkala. She had flown to them using her cloud-pine branch and had landed gracefully on the air-ship's railing, balancing with no danger of falling and having the posture of a ballet dancer with her straight-up back and tenderly curled wrists.

After they had gotten passed shock and introductions and all that customary stuff, Serafina Pekkala told them that Peter had won the duel with Miraz and that they would be meeting up with the Gyptian party very soon.

"But," she said warningly. "I must tell you that the duel with the Telmarine Lord was not the first great battle of the war against the Ruling Powers-the one meant to change destiny for ever."

"War?" said Lee Scoresby, ignoring Hester's irritation that he was interrupting a queen. "I didn't hear nothing of any war."

"You will," said Serafina Pekkala, simply. "It is your war, too, whether you know it or not."

"I reckon I'll soon be too old to fight." said Lee Scoresby, eyeing Hester as she hopped up onto a cargo crate and let out a faint rabbit-whistle.

Serafina Pekkala did not elaborate on his fighting-or not fighting-but, instead, went on with what she had been trying to tell Edmund and Lucy before the aeronaut had cut in. "Bolvangar is the first battle-to rescue those children will not be easy. Mrs. Coulter has an army's worth of large men with wolf-dæmons to guard it-they will not willingly let you pass."

Edmund gulped and quietly handed Reepicheep back to Lucy, letting Ella fly to his shoulder where she belonged. Lucy was unnerved by this action, unsure if symbolically it meant Edmund was too afraid to keep on fighting for her, to go up against Bolvangar, or if he had simply wanted comfort from his own self-his own dæmon.

Actually, it was somewhat both. He was afraid to go up against the place that had once been his back when he was a professed Coulter boy, an heir of that family. Back then, he had loved his mother in spite of all she put him through; now he feared her, and-maybe, he thought though he didn't like to admit it, even hated her just a little bit. He wasn't the least bit comfortable with going up against her-he still was eerie over the whole Dust issue, whether it was good or bad. Other than Lucy herself, he wasn't even sure what he was really fighting for, and that made him awkward. What would happen if they died fighting at Bolvangar? Would their mother really let her own children-himself, Susan, and Lyra-be killed or would she put a stop to it before it was too late? He couldn't trust her to do either; even if she did still love them deep down. She was an unpredictable, unstable, determined, bold, fierce woman that would stop at nothing to accomplish a thing once she set her mind to it. But, while she would willingly hurt her children at times, she would have never put them through the cutting operation she'd put the children of others through-she wouldn't have let them lose their dæmons. Didn't that mean something? It had meant something once, but now Edmund didn't know. All he knew was that things were going faster than he was ready for. Sides were being taken, and without realizing it, he had already found his side. And it wasn't the side a Coulter ought to have been on, probably. Quite simply, he knew then more than ever before that he was no longer a Coulter.

"Once the air-ship comes to landing, you will soon meet up with your Gyptain party and within a few hours, if they are traveling aright, Peter, Susan, Caspian, Iorek, and Lyra Silvertongue will arrive close by."

"Silvertongue?" Edmund repeated, a little confused.

"That's the new surname she's taken." Serafina Pekkala explained. "Iorek gave it to her when she tricked Miraz into fighting Peter in single combat."

Edmund had an idea. "So Belacqua is just an orphaned surname, then?"

"Yes," answered the witch queen. "I suppose it is."

"I'll take it." Edmund decided, smiling a little to himself. "If I'm not Edmund Coulter anymore, then I'll be Edmund Belacqua." Edmund Belacqua was a new person, one not forced into anything by fate or family-ties. For there were no other Belacquas, not since Lyra abandoned the name in favor of one more suitable for her personality, and there had never been an Edmund Belacqua before him. Edmund _was_ the first, no longer shadowed by the mistakes of his parents, free to make his own way-free to love and trust. Free to consider the fact that Dust might just be good after all. Edmund Coulter had always been tainted with a dark, traitorous past, but Edmund Belacqua didn't have to be-he could be pure as rain.

Somehow understanding what this meant for-and to-him, Lucy smiled, happy that he had finally found peace within himself, within a new name.

"Be careful," warned Serafina Pekkala, preparing to lift herself back onto the cloud-pine branch and leave them. "The Ruling Powers will not give up, even after you've crushed Bolvangar. Remember, it is a hard battle, but it is only the first."

Reepicheep, shifting into his gold-and-red feather band mouse form, gripped his sword, a mite over eager until Lucy calmed him down and told him to relax-reminding him that they hadn't even reached Harfang yet.

Meantime, at the winter castle, Susan finally sat up and, pushing a spittoon filled with vomit under the bed, declared herself ready for traveling. Peter was still out of the room, attending to poor Roger, Lyra's half-boy, so she and Maugrim were alone in the bed chamber.

Sniffing at his human as if he were trying to smell what her illness could possibly be, Maugrim's neck fur stuck up and his upper lip curled humourously.

"Do stop making that face at me, Maugrim." Susan snapped, changing out of her bed clothes. "It's not funny."

"Actually," laughed Maugrim. "It sort of is."

"No it's not." she insisted stubbornly.

"You smell funny," the wolf commented.

"Nice," huffed Susan, frowning at him as she started to put on her shoes. "Really nice."

"Hey, it isn't as if I haven't been feeling ill with you all morning." Maugrim pointed out, feeling that teasing her over the matter-since he had figured out what it was and his mistress was still quite oblivious-was only his right.

"Whatever, Maugrim," Susan rolled her eyes and motioned over at a hair ribbon on the night-stand. "fetch me that ribbon, wont you?"

He did so, his wolf-shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter unceasingly the whole time.

"Alright!" Susan turned on her dæmon, at the end of her rope with him by this point. "What is so funny? Tell me at once! You're making me want to laugh, and I haven't the faintest idea that there is anything to laugh about. We've got to go to Bolvangar, for one. There's another half-child who's probably about to die, for another. And you..." her lips pursed and she scowled at him. "...so out with it!"

"You're going to be one very, very stern mother, aren't you?" Maugrim pawed playfully at her skirt and winked one eye at her.

"What are you-" Susan felt the blood drain from her lips when she caught on. "No!"

"I can smell it on you." Maugrim told her finally, willing himself to stop tormenting his own human, beginning to sense her discomfort. "You've got the dæmonless boy's baby growing inside of you."

"You mean, I'm pregnant?" Her eyes widened and she quickly replayed the entire morning in her mind.

The wolf-dæmon nodded somberly.

"How-" The word came out before she actually thought about what she was saying.

"Well, Susan, when a man and a woman love each other very much and one of them makes their dæmon face the wall for extended amounts of time-" he started cheekily.

"I know about _that_!" she barked.

"Well then you shouldn't have asked." Maugrim told her in a very high-and-mighty tone.

"I didn't." said Susan, sitting back down on the bed and trying to digest the news her dæmon had just given her. "Maugrim?"

"Yeah?" He stopped playing around, steadied by the genuinely anxious tone in Susan's voice.

"Are you sure?" she asked very quietly.

The wolf smiled faintly. "Yes."

Isn't it funny, thought Susan to herself, that there was a time when she thought she would never see him-her beloved dæmonless boy-again, and now she was not only his wife, but also going to be the mother of his child. She almost thought, 'life is like a stream' but forced herself not to, she didn't want that metaphor to wear out its welcome. Smiling to herself, she placed a hand on her belly; she couldn't feel it yet, but-thanks to Maugrim-she already knew it was there and wanted to reassure it, that in spite of all the excitement and craziness and fear going on in the world around it, it would not be an unwelcome burden, but a beloved child.


	49. Goodbye, Roger

Roger Parslow, Lyra Silvertongue's oldest and dearest, most beloved childhood companion, did not live to journey with them to Bolvangar, to set right the wrongs, to fight against the Ruling Powers. Shortly before they were ready to leave the winter castle, his weary body gave up the fight to stay alive without his dæmon.

Lyra was-of course-at his side during this bleak, horrific, heart-breaking passing, weeping passionately and clinging to one of his cold, trembling hands. It would not be completely true to say that the tragic death of Roger Parslow occured with no miracles, hopeless and thoroughly uneventful. Something of a minor miracle did happen just before he took his last few breaths and slipped away.

Blinking up into the face of the girl weeping over him, his lips moved and he whispered a name, not his dæmon's name as he was still prone to whisper on a constant loop, but one they had all assumed he'd forgotten in his suffering and shock. "Lyra,"

It was little more than a mumble, but she heard it at once and squeezed his hand even tighter. "Roger!"

"You...you said you would come and get me..."

"Roger, I'm so sorry." bawled Lyra, her heart splitting in two as she held Pantalaimon in his pole-cat form under one of her arms for comfort.

"You came...I knew you'd come...I knew all along you was coming, Lyra." With that, she thought she saw the faintest traces of a smile, of tranquility, right before he was gone.

Though he did not burst into golden dust, it seemed to Lyra that he went out rather like a dæmon; he had always been a bright light in her life, burning like a friendly little flame of conscience and joy, and it went out. He went out like a light-like he had never even been. And a little blaze of starlight that had always twinkled behind Lyra's eyes flickered and died in that moment, never to return, in spite of whatever other joys life would bring her in the future.

"I love you," Lyra wept, letting go of his hand and releasing her dæmon so that she could wrap her arms around Roger's dead body. "I'll get them for this, I promise-I promise."

Watching this from the doorway of the room they'd laid the poor half-child out in to rest, Peter felt his own eyes grow misty, the returning memory of Jill Pole's death still sharper than he had even realized until then. No one-except possibly Mrs. Coulter, if she was actually bothering to keep count-knew for sure how many children had gone through this. It might have been dozens-in the smallest guess-considering how long it had been going on for.

And Roger's death was especially cruel; for his parents, while they were only servants, had made a good living, taken care of him, and wanted him. Now someone would have to tell them that they would never again see their son running down into the kitchens, his cheeks flushed with laughter over some silly joke Lyra had told him, crying, "Mother, did you hear?". He'd never again run around playing pretend-war with Billy Costa, or climb on the roofs, or-guiltily-help Lyra steal toffees from the Master's candy jars, or a million other things he had been known for. His life, one filled with such vivid and beautiful potential, was over-cut short by the cruelty of those working under the authority of the Ruling Powers.

Dejectedly, Peter returned to his bed chamber; Susan and Maugrim were there, waiting for him. As soon as they saw the expression on his face, they understood, they knew what must have happened.

"He's gone?" Maugrim bleated weakly, just to be sure.

Peter nodded; if he spoke, he was pretty sure he would cry.

"Poor Lyra," whispered Susan under her breath, wondering how many other 'gutter girls' so to speak-ones she had never thought about because they weren't half related to her-had lost their friends to the cutting operation. How stupid she had been not to see through her mother's talk of improvements in life and necessary sacrifice all this time. All it really meant was that her selfish, vain, know-everything, golden-headed mother thought she could do anything she wanted because she was rich and powerful, and thus more important than the common folk.

If I'd never met Peter, Susan thought to herself, would I be just like her now? Would I-by some demented means-have found myself actually _happy_ with Lord Rabadash? Would I be heir to Bolvangar with all its wicked practices? Would I be signing notices in my mother's name for children to be cut away from their dæmons?

Shuddering, waiting until Peter wasn't looking (because he didn't know about the life growing inside of her yet), Susan put her hand on her belly again, wondering how she would feel if this little one lost their dæmon. It didn't have a dæmon yet, unborn babies never did-they were dependant on their mothers' dæmons until they were born and their own appeared, and she wasn't sure if it ever would actually have one of its own, considering the fact that Peter had never had one, but if it did, she couldn't help thinking how wretched she would have felt letting her poor baby get cut away from it.

Now she thought she understood why her mother had never made Edmund or herself subject to such a terrible operation, why Lyra was possibly the only child truly safe from ever losing her shift-shaping dæmon prematurely before it settled; no mother could do that to something they'd carried inside of them. Susan herself knew nothing of the child she was going to have. She didn't know if it was a girl or a boy. She didn't even know how large it would grow in the womb or whether or not it would kick very hard or be a mild, soft-spoken resident in there. She hadn't even known the little thing _existed_ until Maugrim had told her twenty minutes ago. Yet, she couldn't imagine letting it come to that sort of harm. As for herself and Edmund, they could have been disgusting little monsters their mother was eager to dispose of and she wouldn't have been able to do it in that manner, not after she carried them. More so, they had been beautiful, bright-eyed, perfectly healthy children at birth and, deep down, their mother had truly loved them, in spite of all she'd done.

A short and sweet funeral was held for little Roger on the winter castle grounds. The icy soil was too hard to dig a proper grave, so, as deeply paining as the notion was, it was decided that after the service and final goodbyes, the dead body of the little half-boy would have to be cremated. Caspian didn't want to do it, even though a few of the Telmarine Gyptians had tried to persuade him, saying it was his right-even his honour-as their leader. He, however, pointed out that that was only true if the dead person in question was a Telmarine-which Roger was certainly not. Therefore, servants could be trusted to do it for him (so that he didn't have to see the little body go up in flames).

"His ashes don't have to stay here in the north, do they?" Lyra cut in quietly after everyone had finished bowing their heads in respect. "I more or less promised I'd get him home-his home was at Jordan."

"I suppose it could be arranged that someone bring the ashes down to Jordan College in the spring." said Caspian, his sea-gull resting glumly on his left shoulder, swallowing hard at the lump in his throat, glancing over at Peter who was blinking back tears while tightly clinging onto Susan's hand; Maugrim looked uneasy and bristled, unable to stare with his large, glowing, unblinking wolf-eyes at the child's corpse for too long.

Heartbreaking as it was, Lyra was right, it made sense that at least one college-person got to go back to Jordan, even if he had been only a servant, even if he were dead and would never know where he had been taken.

Wiping her blood-shot eyes and itchy, dripping nose unceremoniously on her parka sleeve, Lyra staggered over to Roger's body, taking it in one last time, clutching a little white-tipped red rose in her hand. One of the thorns had been missed when they were cut off and it dug into her thumb, but she ignored the pain, just barely even feeling it, cold and numb all over. In the back of her mind, she imagined the rose after she placed it down on her friend's chest, being licked by the cremation flames, caressed by the burning yellow, red, and faintest sharp blue; the petals would turn black, flaming into nothing like the delicate wings of a dead moth or butterfly, becoming either naught but air, or else part of her Roger's ashes. It was _her_ rose, so if it was with him, even through that, maybe in some distant, mystical gibberish of a way, she was still with him, too.

Pantalaimon rested around her neck in the form of a long black serpent, perhaps in mourning. His eyes, tawny and gold-flecked in this form, strikingly vivid against his dark, snaky skin, he gazed at Roger, not quite able to believe he would never see his human's best friend's doggy little dæmon again. Part of him wanted to uncurl himself from around Lyra's neck and nuzzle the little lonely body; actually, part of him wished he'd done so back when the boy was alive, to lean against his cold little hand and comfort him. But, needless to say, he hadn't done that; Pan was a natural coward (just what a half-wild thing like Lyra needed to calm her down every once in a while), and there was the taboo to consider. To touch another human...he shuddered within himself and quickly shifted into a dull-eyed, hoary-coloured mink of some sort, just for the sake of having fur and feeling its warmth.

"Goodbye, Roger." the words came softly, tenderly, unforced from Lyra's lips, which had finally settled themselves and stopped trembling. Her crying was over, it was-although she wished it wasn't, that she could stay holding onto her friend's memory for ever-time to move on.

The reason she had to move on was not only for herself (in which case she might not have been able to will herself to do so), but for the sake of what her fate was: to bring an end to Bolvangar. She would, as soon as humanly possible, feast upon revenge. The scientists wouldn't get off so easy-she'd tear their lungs out for harming her beloved Roger-for harming all those kids who'd never done them no wrong. And Mrs. Coulter, well, that woman had better stay clear out of her sight-because, mother or no mother, she was something detestable to Lyra. This was all _her_ fault. How Lyra could have ever, ever found that nasty, spiteful, cold-hearted, daughter of pigs to be so beautiful and clever, so very wonderful, she didn't know.

"I must have been mad to think so well of her," she would often say to Pan late at night when she couldn't sleep and the wicked noblewoman crossed her mind.

"You didn't know, Lyra," Pan would answer softly, yawning, feeling tired and not wanting to think about Mrs. Coulter or that horrid golden monkey of hers. "You didn't know what she was really like."

"Everyone tried to warn me, Pan." Lyra would mumble into her blankets bitterly, furious and self-loathing.

"She was the mother you never had," Pantalaimon was always sympathetic to this. "You couldn't help yourself-she did seem nice, then."

"I should've knowed," Lyra's answer would always be. "All the same, I should've knowed."

Pan wouldn't reply to this at all.

"She aint my mother, Pan." was her final midnight thought on the matter. "No matter what they say, she aint. She just aint. Mothers are supposed to love their daughters-she don't love me, not really. I bet my father'd never hurt someone his daughter cared about like that." And, as she often did when she felt desolate and upset, she would pin her thoughts on Lord Asriel, believing him to be a better father than Lady Marisa was a mother; though, really, she had no genuine proof on this matter beyond guesswork and wishful-thinking.

The sad thing was that, in time, when she and Lucy would meet up again, Lyra's attitude towards Lord Asriel would become somewhat contagious until Lucy couldn't help wondering if maybe she was right. Given, Lord Asriel could never be a better father than Mr. Pevensie had been-no one could-but the thought that he was better, in his deepest core, than his outward gruffness and wild, fierce-eyed dæmon seemed, persisted. One day, sooner than Lucy would have expected, those hopes would be shattered.

Helping Lyra onto one of the horses the Telmarines had provided them with so that they would have more than just one white reindeer to ride back towards their Gyptian party, Peter saw how tight and strained her expression was. This was not surprising, considering what she had just been through, but all the same, he couldn't help gently asking, "Will you be all right, Lyra?"

Holding Pantalaimon in the form of a grayish red-brown pine marten in the crook of one of her arms, his russet eyes glinting, Lyra blinked at him and nodded, "Yes; we already said goodbye."

He pressed her no more, but, in turn, forced a consoling smile and went to see if Susan and Maugrim needed any help with the saddle-bags they were strapping to the chestnut cob who regarded them coolly with pricked up ears and a swishing tail.


	50. Return to Bolvangar

Bolvangar; it was even more horrid and dismal a place to behold than Lucy had remembered, its glass roofs and dome and branch-off hallways looming threateningly-even at a great distance.

It had taken quite a journey to get here, and yet, suddenly it didn't seem like long enough. Of course she was glad that everyone was together again (Susan, Caspian, Iorek, Lyra, and Peter had caught up to the Gyptian party traveling below them and they needed to do no more than ask Lee Scoresby to land the air-ship whenever they wanted to talk to them now), but her heart still pounded in her chest. There were hunters just waiting to stop them from getting those poor imprisoned children out-the witch queen had warned them of a battle which was surely unavoidable.

Shuddering as the air-ship made its descent, Lucy clutched Reepicheep in the form of a terrier to her chest and closed her eyes tightly. Soon they'd have to follow through with their plan: Edmund and Susan were going to help Lucy and Lyra sneak into the building and smuggle out the children-with Peter, the Gyptians, Iorek, and Lee Scoresby waiting outside nearby, ready to fight and defend them when they were caught. For, of course, the hunters would see all the children running out in their warm clothes and pursue them. No matter how careful they all were, nothing could be done about this.

Reepicheep shifted into a black-and-white lemur and clung even tighter to his human as Edmund gently gripped her elbow and said, "Come on, it's time."

Everyone was bundled up in their warmest clothes, and each and every half-way decent archer checked their bow strings for wear and weaknesses just to be sure they were in working order. Many a Gyptian man sharpened a sword as they watched Lucy and Edmund nod over at Lyra-who had Pantalaimon in the form of a dark-feathered owl perched on her shoulder-letting her know it was time to get a move on. It was a short walk to Bolvangar's doors from where they were now, but the elements were brutal enough to make it seem as long and dangerous as any arctic expedition.

At the out-skirts of the party, standing near a food-and-blanket sleigh, Lucy could see Peter whispering anxiously to Susan; he didn't want her to go to Bovangar with her brother, half-sister, and sister-in-law. He knew now that she was with child (she had finally told him, half-glaring at Maugrim who chuckled madly the entire time she stammered an elaborate metaphor like an idiot before actually managing to blurt out what she really meant to say), and so did not much like the idea of her having to fight or creep around dark, unsafe hallways. Susan, though, was adamant.

"Peter, no, I can't stay and let Edmund take Lyra and Lucy on his own." Susan said reasonably, her voice calm and very matter-a-fact, surprisingly unemotional considering how stressed-out she was feeling. "Edmund and I are the only ones who know the place inside and out."

"Edmund knows what he's doing, then." argued Peter. "You don't _both_ have to go."

"Yes, we do," Susan insisted. "If something happens-"

"Exactly!" Peter cut in. "If something happens to you-"

Maugrim growled, angry at his human being so hastily interrupted before she could make her point.

"Be quiet, Maugrim." said Peter quickly, though, to his surprise, the wolf-dæmon only growled louder still, and Susan's furious glare tightened.

"Peter," she said testily. "you need to trust me on this."

"It's not safe enough for you," he whispered. "you know that."

"I've been there countless times before." Susan protested logically.

"As a _Coulter_ , Susan, not as a Pevensie." Peter said sharply. "You know you're not likely to be welcomed there any longer."

"But-"

"No, Su, I wont allow it."

"You can't stop me."

"Can so,"

"Cannot." Susan pouted at him and folded her arms across her chest. "You're my husband; that doesn't give you the right to say-"

"It's for your own good."

"Nonsense, you're just scared," her voice was still calm, but there was a terseness about it now. "It's understandable-of course-but you have to understand that this is the only way to save those children."

"I understand that, I care about them, you know I do." Peter shook his head. "But my first concern is for my wife, for _you_ (and the little one)," he glanced down at her belly momentarily. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"I wont, Peter." Susan said softly, reaching up and touching the side of his face. "I promise I wont."

"You can't make that promise..." Peter gulped, looking over at the glowing glass dome in the distance, the shape that was Bolvangar. "...not in a place like that."

"Of course I can," Susan told him. "Remember what I said before; Edmund and I know the place from top to bottom-we can do this."

"And when the guards and hunters come after you?" Peter arched a brow challengingly. "Then what? I'm none too pleased about letting _Lucy_ go as it is-you know that."

"That's when you, Mr. Scoresby, and the Gyptians come and rescue us." she said coolly, her voice almost a bell-like giggle. Maugrim's ears twitched and his gray tail flickered.

Peter sighed deeply, there was no arguing with her, and Pantalaimon-in a form rather like Lord Asriel's dæmon-was beating his snow-coloured paw on the ground to remind them they had to hurry up.

"I'll be there," he murmured finally. "when you come out of Bolvangar's doors, I mean."

She kissed his cheek and embraced him tightly. "I'll be all right."

His arms tightened around her; clearly he didn't want to let go, but he-very slowly-did, loosening his grip bit by bit. His mouth opened to speak but no words came out. What was there left to say? 'I hope you don't get killed'? 'I'm being such a moron letting you go like this'? 'I'm terrified'? 'I think I might vomit'?

He felt Maugrim's fur brush up against his wool tights. Bending down, he stroked the wolf from head to tail, gently and with no protests from either side.

During the whole walk to (and around; because they couldn't go through the front doors) Bolvangar no one spoke. Pantalaimon became a brown, white-muzzled monkey with his soft, but very unruly-looking, tail wrapped around his human's arm as he clung to her shoulder, anxiously peering over at Edmund and Susan who put their gloved fingers to their lips and nodded, waving them over to a certain seldom-used side door made half of unpolished, tinted-with-dirt glass and half of pine-wood. Reepicheep was in his most valiant form: the large brown mouse with the golden red-feather band, clinging to Lucy's shoulder the same way Pantalaimon clung to Lyra's.

"Wont it be locked?" Ella whispered into Edmund's ear, ruffling her feathers anxiously.

"Probably not," said Edmund, reaching out for the small partly-broken metallic knob. "they were always forgetting to latch this entrance, remember?"

"Oh, yes!" Ella exclaimed softly, her beak curling upwards. "I see now; they forgot because it mostly just leads to the utility closet room anyway and only the janitor ever bothered to come through it."

The knob felt cold against his wool gloves, and for a moment Edmund feared that it wouldn't turn, or, worse, would break completely and leave them at an impasse. But, thankfully, though they had to pick away at a thin layer of ice to get it to twist in the right direction, it opened with a light creak, revealing a dimly-lit room that smelled-Maugrim said-like wet rabbit.

The walls they passed were damp and rusty with a strip of dark green mold growing along one side; but as soon as Edmund, who knew a little more of this part of the place than his sister did, showed them how to crawl through a certain vent to get into the main part of the building, they came to the perfectly kept-up walls Lucy remembered and Lyra had imagined.

"This is where we split up," Edmund said after he had helped Susan-the last one out of the vent-to her feet. "Lucy, you and Susan go that way-towards where the children take their supper, they're bound to be having it soon. Lyra and I will go towards the operation room and make sure there aren't any children in there right now." He didn't want anyone to get left behind because the nurses were about to cut them away from their dæmons.

"Don't get seen, Ed." Susan warned him, not certain if he was capable of pulling it off. True, he had seen the cutting operation numerous times, but he had changed into a less numb, much more sensitive boy since then-could he really be expected not to spring out and snatch a frightened child out of a nurse's arms without first considering his own footing and need to keep hidden?

Edmund nodded and, grabbing onto Lyra's wrist to pull her along, fast-walked down the hallway.

"This way," said Susan, motioning for Lucy to follow her.

Lucy had been watching nervously after Edmund since he'd gone out of sight and it took a moment for her to snap back to attention. As soon as she remembered what they had to do, she quickly took off and trotted along at her sister-in-law's side.

Peering into the room where the children were sitting in rows while the nurses passed out their suppers, Susan winced. There were too many menservants and nurses in there for her to pass through unnoticed-they'd know her for Mrs. Coulter's daughter the second they spotted her. Actually, she was taking a terrible risk just staring at them with her head uncovered, standing in the doorway, at any given moment one of them might look over and see her pale, stricken face grimacing in their direction.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed her back against the wall outside the room and whispered to Lucy, "You've got to go in alone, your dæmon still changes shape so they wont take much notice of you amongst all the others. Tell the children to have their warm clothes ready, then, when they all go back to their dorms, meet me in the retiring room across this hallway-they don't use that one very often."

Reepicheep quickly shifted into a smaller dull-black mouse so that he wouldn't stand out as a particularly striking dæmon and buried himself under Lucy's collar with only his little head sticking out.

Once she was in the room, Lucy quickly sat down next to three girls about two years or so younger than herself. One of them was short and slightly plump with dark hair; her dæmon was currently in the form of a squat-looking, striped brown cat. Another was as blonde as a fairy-tale princess; her dæmon a gray squirrel at the moment. And the last was a wispy little thing, very thin-bodied with a slow-witted, wolverine dæmon who could presumably still shape-shift, but didn't often bother to.

"Who're you?" asked the blond one, blinking at Lucy while her dæmon glanced curiously at Reepicheep. "You new, aint you?"

"Um..." Lucy hesitated for a moment.

"I'm Bella," said the plump one, picking up her dæmon and putting him in her lap while she spoke. "She's Bridget," she had pointed to the blonde girl. "And that's Martha." (The wispy-looking one).

"Hey, how come there's just you?" demanded Martha, having a deeper voice than her weak frame suggested. "Usually they brung more kids than one at a time. 'sept occasionally, course."

"Listen," Lucy said softly, leaning in close to Bella's ear. "There's a band of Gyptians outside-they're going to take everyone home."

"I aint a Gyptian," whispered Bridget, overhearing. "and Bella's only half."

That explained a little bit of her looks, Lucy thought, though she didn't say anything about it out loud. "It doesn't matter, they're going to take you all home."

"What if we don't trust 'em?" Martha said unsurely.

"If you stay here, they'll cut your dæmon away." Lucy warned them, reaching up to stroke Reepicheep's long pink rat-tail with her index finger.

Bella's jaw dropped. "Is _that_ what they do to the kids who don't come a-back?"

Lucy nodded and sighed softly, letting go of Reepicheep and placing her finger on her lower lip instead, reminding Bella to be quieter so that the nurses didn't hear her getting agitated.

"That boy-Roger, I think he was called...with the doggy dæmon-they done it to him?" Bridget wanted to know.

Lucy closed her eyes tightly and opened them again before nodding yes.

"Oh, god, it aint right." said Bella, looking as though she might burst into tears. "He was a-waiting for someone, a friend."

"Lyra," Lucy whispered knowingly.

"Yeah, yeah, that's 'er name I thinks." another girl called Annie (her dæmon-at the time-a bat) chimed in.

"Look, just whisper down to everyone that they need to have their warmest clothes and coats and hats and scarves and things ready," Lucy told them. "Oh, and don't let the nurses hear!" That would have been disastrous, she knew.

After the now-trembling girls agreed to pass on the message, Lucy glanced over at the door, wondering if she should make a run for the retiring room where Susan was waiting for her or just wait patiently for the bell like she was supposed to. Safety eventually over-ran impulse, and she waited, though she couldn't help tapping her foot and was worried that the nurses would catch on before too long.

Meanwhile, Susan sat in the retiring room, thinking how very strange it was that once this would have all belonged to her. She would have been an heiress to all of these rooms and objects, to every bit of it, and to every bit of the horrors of this place, too.

Groaning, Maugrim sat beside her on the long cherry-wood bench that ran the length of one of the walls, his paws in her lap. Susan sighed and stroked his head. "They still do themselves well, don't they, Maugrim?" She was refering to the neatly set places and silver dishes that served to decorate the room even though there were dozens others that were finer.

"We got off easy," Maugrim joked. "Think how spoiled we would have been."

"Think how spoiled we _were_." Susan pointed out.

"Where's Lucy?" the wolf said after a pause. "Why isn't she here yet?"

"They probably haven't cleared out to their dorms yet," said Susan, giving him a light box on the ears to steady him. "Don't fret so, you're only making me nervous."

"You've been cranky ever since you found out you were going to be a mother." Maugrim teased, closing his eyes, only to shoot them back open when he heard voices and feet coming towards the door.

Susan's eyes widened and she threw up her hands frustratedly. "Oh, they _would_ change their minds and start using this room tonight, wouldn't they?"

"Well," Maugrim leapt off of her lap and onto the floor, making a dash for the table. "Quick, get under here before they open the door and see you."

She moaned and crawled on her hands and knees into the cramped spaces between the metal folding chairs, pulling her knees to her chest and willing her dæmon's panting (and her own breathing) to become softer.

As the door flung open, it was her mother's own terse voice that said, "That's all very well and good, but I am very eager for you to explain how a child..." there was the sound of her thumbing through some papers. "...under the surname of Parslow...managed to run away from the station after his operation."

"Mrs. Coulter, if we'd known you were coming-" someone started off shakily-none of them having known of her visit until a few minutes ago when they saw her Zeppelin arrive.

"Spare me," she sighed airily as one of the male nurses slid a cushioned chair towards the table for her to sit in.

"Mrs. Coulter," said a female nurse. "We have already gathered a vague idea of child's whereabouts."

Her tone changed to a somewhat milder one as she took her seat and the golden monkey relaxed in her lap. "Is he alive?"

The nurse shook her head.

"That is unfortunate." sighed Mrs. Coulter, taking off a pair of warm lacy gloves and placing them on the table in front of her. "I, however, do have some good news."

Good news? Susan wondered what she could have possibly meant, and pulling herself as far away from her mother's legs as she could-worried that the golden monkey would sense Maugrim's presence and give her away-she listened more carefully.

"The Ruling Powers have decided what to do about Lord Asriel."

Susan felt her heart thump loudly in her chest; she didn't like Lord Asriel much, but she knew Lyra did, and that he was Lucy's father as well. She wanted him to be all right for their sakes at least. Besides, Peter had told her about how Lord Asriel had rescued him from the spy-flies when he'd first left Bolvangar, and if he was good enough to do that, she figured he was good enough to be left alone.

"He has bribed his captors and set up a little study for himself in a cabin further north than we are, towards the northern lights," explained Mrs. Coulter, gritting her teeth at the thought of those idiot hunters disobeying her. "The Ruling Powers will send their guards over in the next few days-he will be arrested for heresy and sentenced to death."

Thinking she might hurl just from the cold disregard her mother showed for the man who was supposedly her lover once, Susan grabbed onto a small bunch of Maugrim's fur and clutched at it like a drowning person. She thought her mother had maybe loved Lord Asriel, if she hadn't been able to fully love Edmund Coulter, but now she realized that she probably had never loved him, either.

"Is there any word of the girl, by the way?" Mrs. Coulter asked the staff when they had managed to stop gasping, "Death?" a little surprised, having expected stricter imprisonment as opposed to the ultimate punishment.

What girl? Susan thought to herself, blinking twice out of astonishment. Was there another half-child lost that she wasn't aware of?

"No one's seen the Belacqua child, Mrs. Coulter." they told her. "Sorry."

Oh, Susan almost shrugged her shoulders-stopping herself, worried that any movement might alert them to her presence, she's still looking for Lyra, then, that's not good.

"I think I will retire for the evening." Mrs. Coulter quickly gathered up her gloves and her purse left by the door, the golden monkey riding on her arm.

The retiring door slammed shut and Mrs. Coulter was gone, heading down towards her bed chamber and other apartments in the building, but a few staff members stayed behind to talk about her unexpected visit and what she had said about Lord Asriel.

"I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of her," said one of them. "let me tell you that."

"She's positively ghoulish when she gets mad enough,"

"Her and that mutant of a dæmon! Has anyone ever actually heard that _thing_ talk?"

Although she knew it was her own mother they were talking about, Susan couldn't help agreeing with them.

"Lord Asriel must have done something to anger her if she's letting the Ruling Powers kill him."

"Eh, they would have killed him anyway."

"True, but she's part of it. She was always a might too easy when it came to deaths."

"Yes, remember the first experiments when she was so keen to see the children and their dæmons pulled apart before we had proper equipment for it?"

Of course, Susan already largely knew a great deal about that matter, though not quite so much as Edmund did, and she wasn't surprised by what they were saying regarding the cutting, but for some reason, she felt sick to her stomach over it this time. Perhaps the child growing inside of her had heard it and, sensing it was something wicked-evil, even-had been disturbed, thus making her feel unwell. At any rate, she heaved and a light hiccup escaped before she could stop it.

"What was that?" They had heard her.

"I think it came from under the table."

The next thing she knew, the eyes of the male nurses were glinting at her; a rough hand grabbed her arm and pulled her out.

"Let me go!" Susan cried out trying to squirm free of their grip. Maugrim snapped at one of their dæmons and barked viciously.

"Susan Coulter?" They recognized her.

"What's she doing here?"

"Quick," one of them pushed her down onto a chair. "Someone go tell Mrs. Coulter."

The next thing she knew after that, they were gone, and the door was locked behind them.

"Now what?" Susan was out of ideas; they had been too rough when they'd pushed her down and her side ached. For people so ready to talk bad about Mrs. Coulter, they sure did her bidding whenever they were called upon to do so.

Maugrim glanced over at the wide opening a few feet off the ground from the corner of the room.

"The vent?" she was uncertain; it was a smallish space and though she could probably squeeze through it with some effort, she was anxious about Maugrim's ability to do so.

Her dæmon himself, while sensing her apprehension, was not afraid, remembering how easily they'd gone through the other vent when Edmund, Lyra, and Lucy were with them. Assuming this one to be the same size, they could probably get through it and back out into the hallway quickly enough.

It turned out to be slightly smaller and Susan banged her knees and snagged the ends of her dress a few times; Maugrim got stuck once towards the end, but managed to squeeze out thanks to Susan's insistent pulling.

They stood breathlessly at the end of the hallway, Maugrim's fur matted and Susan's hair rather disheveled, and let the reality of the situation sink in. Soon, her mother would know she was there. For all she knew, she might already be aware of her presence at Bolvangar and could already be on her way back down to the retiring room, that horrid golden monkey surely having a victorious sneer on his face.

"That gives us less time to get those children out," Maugrim realized.

"She wasn't supposed to be here!" If Susan had been a bit younger, she would have stamped her foot; as it was, her lower lip did tremble a little.

But, regardless, she was there and they would have to find some way around that unfortunate fact; because there was no turning back now, they were in too deep to get out without a scratch. The plan would still have to go on. The Gyptians, Lee Scoresby, and Peter would still be waiting for them. If nothing else, at least they could count on that much.


	51. The battle for Bolvangar

As Lyra and Edmund walked towards the operation room, Pantalaimon, currently in his pole cat form, hissing in a low, protective tone at the feet of his little mistress, and Ella flying a little ways in front of Edmund so as to make sure the coast was clear, they heard a little cry coming from a small locker-room sort of chamber at its side.

Creeping over and sliding the door open a crack, they saw a woman-obviously one of the nurses-standing with the back of her legs pressed against a long iron-coloured metal bench, looking up into the pipe-like rafters above her.

"Billy, come down, nothing bad is going to happen." she said calmly, sighing heavily as she glanced from whoever was hiding up there to the medium-sized wall-clock to her left.

 _Billy?_ Lyra was instantly alert; could it be the same Billy she was thinking of? The Gyptian child she'd played-and fought-with as a little girl, Billy Costa, Ma Costa's little boy?

"Yous gonna hurt Ratter, aint you?" a little frightened-very familiar-voice cried from the cold metallic rafters, shivering violently and making the pipes tremor a bit.

"No, of course not, dear," the nurse said with pretend sweetness. "It's just a little operation-just a tiny cut-that's all. It wont hurt."

"Liar," Edmund muttered under his breath, remembering all the cuttings he had witnessed himself; there was no doubt about it-it _hurt_. The shock was probably the worse part of it, but it hurt all the same.

Thankfully the nurse didn't hear him and kept on calling to an unconvinced Billy Costa, refusing to come down. "Don't you want to grow up? This is how you grow up; it'll help you-it'll _protect_ you."

"You people don't _touch_ my Ratter!" he sobbed, bawling loudly, clearly in hysterics by this point. "Stay away from me!"

"Just come on down-look, it's only me, not all those people, you don't have to be afraid." the nurse cooed in a gentle tone, trying to coax him.

"Theys all waitin' in the room for me, aint they?" No one could say Billy Costa wasn't a bright boy. "In the room with that awful fence-thing."

"Billy, if you come down, I promise we'll let you go home after you've helped us."

"Lies!" wailed Billy, unconvinced.

"Come on," Edmund took a step forward and crept behind the nurse, so that Billy Costa, looking down, would be able to see him even though she couldn't.

At first, Billy was afraid, not really knowing Edmund all that well, remembering even less than Lyra did about when they'd had a companion called 'Ed' who had played with them in the muddy brooks and river-beds near Jordan College when they were very small. Then, however, Lyra stepped out and stood beside Edmund so that Billy would know he was on their side, and it took all the poor stolen-away Gyptian boy had left in him not to cry out in relief.

Moving as swiftly as if she were a hawk instead of an owl, Ella flew downwards and pinned the nurse's dæmon, a small yellowish spaniel with lack-luster black eyes, to the ground. Pantalaimon at once became a gray wolf very like Susan's Maugrim and growled at the nurse and her trapped dæmon, baring his teeth as if to show he would take no nonsense from her. The nurse gasped weakly and ran forward to help her dæmon get free.

Without thinking about what he was doing, Edmund grabbed the woman's wrists and held onto them tightly while Lyra took Billy Costa's shaking hands in her own and helped him down from the rafters. It wasn't until the boy was safely on the ground with his darling Ratter on his shoulder, her white rat-tail flicking down onto his blades, relaxing itself, that a horrible thought occurred to Edmund and made him feel rather sick.

What he was doing, holding the nurse's wrists so that she could not help her own dæmon, was the very same thing his mother had done to both Susan and Lyra, his own beloved sisters. He was doing the very thing he hated Mrs. Coulter for doing. Worse, he was doing it because he was trying to do the _right_ thing.

This nurse wasn't a very pretty woman, or a very appealing-faced one, for that matter. There was nothing friendly or familiar about her, just an over-all blankness, her skin the colour of under-cooked oatmeal, almost as if she was just barely human. Nothing whatsoever about her resembled Susan or Lyra in the least; but as Edmund spotted a few tears and a single bead of sweat running down her face while she struggled against his grip, his own face recoiled in horror, seeing both of his sisters looking out at him through those otherwise unresponsive, meaningless eyes.

For some reason, he thought he saw just a little bit more of Susan than of Lyra-perhaps because he felt personally responsible for what had happened to her after he'd accidentally tipped off their mother to her relationship with the dæmonless boy. He couldn't do this; he couldn't endure inflicting this kind of suffering on a person with the cold, the-end-justifies-the-means disregard his mother lived by. He wasn't his father, and he wasn't his mother, either. He wasn't Edmund Coulter, he was Edmund Belacqua.

"Ella," he whispered, slowly letting go of his grip on the woman's wrists, his voice shaking and his eyes misty. "Let him go."

The owl, her wings flapping wildly, fluttering with inward turmoil, started to let the dog-dæmon up.

Although, the way Edmund was feeling, he would have much rather let the nurse go completely free, as if it would atone for his sins and those of his parents, but he knew that they couldn't risk her warning the other staff members of his presence and impeding their plan, so they locked her in a closet instead.

"Roger said you was coming," Billy Costa told Lyra. "I'd as much as give up hope, but he always said to expect you."

Lyra felt her eyes fill up with tears at the mention of her late best friend, thinking about how dearly she'd loved him, how much she still loved him, and trying her hardest not to focus on the pain that rested like a bruise under her ribs beside her broken heart. She knew she couldn't keep going if she did-that she just had to keep on moving.

"Your mum's here, Billy," she replied after a pause. "A whole bunch of Gyptians are outside-come to rescue you."

Ratter squeaked and nuzzled her boy's neck. "Home at last!"

"Edmund," said Lyra, noticing the tight look still woven all over his far-too-pale-at-the-moment face. "what is it?"

He was still reflecting on how awful it was when one did things under pressure that they would never do under normal circumstances. To feel pity for a nurse who had helped many a child to their death from shock, assisting in innumerable cutting operations, was an odder feeling than a fallen-asleep limb that's been sat on and becomes all pins and needles, but he couldn't shake it off as easily as that. Because he kept thinking about Susan and Maugrim, and Lyra and Pantalaimon, suffering. Closing his eyes tightly, letting it go, he breathed in to steady himself.

"I'm fine," he said finally. "really."

"Well, come on then, let's go." Lyra said, grabbing Billy's arm and leading him to the door.

"Were you the only one they were about to cut, Billy?" Edmund double-checked now that his brain was back in working order.

He nodded grimly and patted Ratter on the head for reassurance that she was still there, safe and sound.

"All right," Edmund swung the door open, and the three of them ran out into the hallway.

Billy grabbed a wool coat off of a shinny brass hook on the wall at the hallway's end because he didn't have his own warm clothes with him at the moment, and Lyra loaned him an extra tight-knit woolen scarf she happened to have rolled up in her pocket. He didn't want to wear it-it was bright pink (the same reason Lyra didn't care for it, actually)-but Lyra convinced him it was better than being in the freezing cold with a bare neck, and he-somewhat sulkily-consented to put it on. Edmund loaned him his own hat, a dark blue cap; he figured the poor frightened Gyptian boy needed it more than he did. For gloves, Billy had no option but to stuff his hands into his pockets when they got red, there wasn't much they could do about that.

"I hope this works," Edmund said to himself as he reached for the alarm handle, remembering how he and his dæmon had once used it to help Peter and Lucy escape. But that had been relatively easy-it was only one boy and his sister, not a whole building's worth of running, screaming, bundled up, runny-nosed children pushing out the doors against the will of the staff.

"What about Lucy and Susan?" Lyra squinted down the hall, hoping to see them coming towards them, but saw no one.

"They'll run out during the fake fire-alarm, too." Edmund said; at least he hoped they would, otherwise it would mean something had gone terribly amiss with their plans.

"Five," Lyra started counting, eyeing the door behind her as the harsh northern wind blew viciously against it. "Four,"

"Three," Edmund counted, slowly putting more pressure on the handle. Soon the alarm would be thumping endlessly through most of Bolvangar and with its help they would either succeed-or fail.

"Two," said Lyra.

Edmund paused for a moment before finishing the count down and pulling the alarm all the way. He was secretly hoping for at least a glimpse of his sister and Lucy before the noise alerted all of the other children that it was time to make a run for it, but he didn't see them and couldn't go back on the plan now.

"One!"

The alarm blasted, blaring unbearably in everyone's ears, and, as many of the flustered nurses thought it was a fire drill for the children, they didn't think of stopping the running mob of bundled up escapees and their dæmons as they rushed to the door until it was a mite too late for them to do so without causing a ruckus.

The children didn't stop running as Lyra held the doors open and shouted above the alarm's endless siren sounds for them to keep going until they saw the Gyptians and an armoured bear.

As for Edmund, he motioned for Lyra to leave with the others, knowing they wouldn't make it three feet without her telling them which way to go, never mind all the way to Iorek, Peter, Lee Scoresby, and the Gyptians, but he stayed until the last child (it happened to be Bridget, the fairy-tale blond with the dæmon who was favoring the form of a squirrel at the time) was making her way out, waiting eagerly for Lucy and Susan. They still hadn't shown.

Bridget tripped and fell and six children directly in front of her, obviously of tender hearts though they couldn't have had much of an upbringing from the scrappy looks of them, turned around to help her back up off of her knees.

What had happened was that Susan had indeed been seen by her mother who had searched the building for her after she'd escaped the retiring room through the vents, but she hadn't been caught sight of before finding Lucy, and, thinking to save both their skins, she pulled her sister-in-law down several hallways until they came to-ironically enough-the operation room.

Likely, someone would have grabbed them and dragged them to Mrs. Coulter's feet, but there was a good deal of confusion; first because of Billy Costa who had pulled away before they could cut him from his dæmon and then ran off into another room; and then because of a very loud, and completely unexpected, fire drill. Already frazzled from Mrs. Coulter's sudden arrival, they did little more than run out of the room, grabbing their smocks and coats and warm hats as quickly as possible; only to be nearly run-over by a stampede of racing children.

So, somehow or other, it had led to Lucy and Susan being alone in the room with only their dæmons for company. Knowing they had a short time to get out, Susan quickly caught her breath and turned to leave, hoping her mother hadn't seen them come this way. To her surprise, however, Lucy wasn't right behind her-she stared intently and hatefully at the fencing and controls used for the cutting operation, remembering her own near separation from her dearest Reep. No, they would not get away with this. They would not do it to another helpless child who'd been stolen away from the only world they knew to have something like this happen to them. They wouldn't; she would make sure of it.

Pulling all the dials as high up as they would go, Lucy picked up the main controller and flung it into the middle of the wire fencing with all her might. For a moment nothing happened. Then, sparks-small at first but soon to become larger. Ever-growing explosions started; and Lucy felt Susan cease her hand; Maugrim let out a distressed bay as they made a break down the hallway. Reepicheep, in the form of a scampering little white mouse, twisting his tiny whiskered face into a firm, hard-pressed sort of look, actually managed to ride out of the exploding room on Maugrim's tail.

Drawing closer to the open front doors, they saw Edmund and Ella standing near the alarm, a cloud of deep relief passing across his stormy expression when he caught sight of them. Ella instantly flew over to Reepicheep and picked him up off of Maugrim's back (he had climbed up there from the tail), carrying him gently in her claws, trying to get him closer to the door so that he would get out and Lucy would have to follow hastily, not being able to be that far from him. The mouse squeaked once from surprise; but as he trusted Ella unboundedly, he did no more than simply that, and was soon out the door, his mistress right behind him, barely two tail-lengths away.

As she dashed out into the midst of the other children, Lucy glanced back over her shoulder at Edmund for a moment, and without knowing why, felt a light stream of tears prick at her eyes, freezing like little glass beads on the tips of her eyelashes.

Susan paused at the double doors, shivering. Maugrim stood just about as far away from her as he comfortably could, closer to Edmund and the fire alarm than to his mistress.

"Susan, go on!" Edmund exclaimed, wondering why she wasn't running out and helping Lucy and Lyra with the other children.

"Not without you." she said after a moment.

"I'll be fine," he insisted; Ella snapping her beak at Maugrim, urging him onwards. "I'm right behind you, honest, just go!"

"Mother's here, Edmund." Susan shivered again-but not because of the cold whipping from the open doors slapping mercilessly at her reddened cheeks this time.

His complexion momentarily grew somewhat chalky. "Why?"

"I don't know, but she's after us-or, at least me-she knows I'm here." Susan looked down, ashamed to have inadvertently given them away.

Maugrim, his fur standing up sharply at the nape of his neck, came closer to his human-and the door-ready to go, eager to go, but not yet willing to do so. He stared hard at Ella, almost as if he wanted her to ride out on his back, just to be sure of her safety-and of Edmund's.

But Edmund was hesitant and a wicked little hiss rang out-almost louder than the fire alarms.

Mrs. Coulter's golden monkey had appeared seemingly out of no where and had charged, not at Maugrim as might have been expected, but at Ella, who flapped her wings wildly to get away, securing herself by sinking her claws into Edmund's left shoulder the second she reached it, breathing heavily.

Watching her son, and seeing her daughter by the door with her wolf-dæmon, Mrs. Coulter's mind reeled. She had lost Susan, she had to admit defeat there; yet, Edmund, she was sure, had to be-deep down in his core-still very much her son, on her own side, the way he was supposed to be. It was true that she had all but abandoned him at Jordan College a while back. Be that as it may, it wasn't supposed to be for ever, he was Bolvangar's boy, he was _hers_.

A fire created from the sparks caused by Lucy's destroying of explosive machinery in the operation room, had found its way out into the hall further up. Edmund could see the orange and yellow flames like a faint flicker, but mostly smoke, and nurses fleeing this way and that.

A tall man grabbed onto Mrs. Coulter's shoulders, not roughly, only firmly to direct her to a side door they were getting out through. She shook his gesture off half-way, signaling for him to wait a second.

Her monkey had failed to grab onto Ella and she could see Maugrim's teeth sinking into the bottom of her daughter's dress, attempting to drag her half-way outside so that the fire wouldn't get to her when it reached that part of the hall.

A few members of the staff had noticed Edmund by the alarm and had said something along the lines of, "Don't fret, he's one of ours," or something of the sort.

"Come, Edmund!" Mrs. Coulter cried, her hand stretched out, calling to her son.

His head didn't move an inch, but his eyes shifted steadily; from his mother to his sister, from the double doors to the emergency exist, from Maugrim to the horrid golden monkey.

Whether he just knew exactly what his mother was thinking, or else had simply over-heard the staff, the words burst out of him, out of Edmund Belacqua. "I'm not yours!" He slammed his hand hard against the wall as he backed towards the double doors, closer to his sister now. "I'll never be yours!"

Somewhere in a far-off room, glass shattered and another horrible explosion rang out over the alarm. Edmund, his dæmon still safely on his shoulder, ran out the front doors towards the children.

There was something the matter, though, they had all stopped moving forward, it seemed. Several of them trembled uncontrollably from fear and cold, a few cried ice-tears, weeping all the more so from the pain of the hardened frost on their faces.

"What's happening?" Edmund asked anxiously.

Ella, who had flown above the crowd to get a better look, told him. "All the hunters and guards are there; most of them have ferocious-looking wolf-dæmons, and they've got weapons-swords and rifles-as well."

Pushing his way through the crowd of terrified, horror-stricken children, Edmund found his way to the front of the group, where both Lyra and Lucy stood, staring bolding back into the guard's stern faces, unmoved. Pan was in his bulkiest pole cat form, hissing as threateningly at the guard's dæmons as he dared, his face screwed up and beautiful in an ugly-warrior sort of way. Reepicheep stood his ground as a long, sleek black cat with eyes so bright and a muzzle so intensely glowering that he seemed almost like a miniature panther.

"Go back," snarled a hunter-one of the few men there who had a large fox instead of a wolf for a dæmon-in a broken-sounding English. "I command you!"

Lyra took a step forward. Billy, impressed, and having been standing just a little ways off, came and stood by her side; they clasped hands and glared adamantly at the guards, refusing to go back. They didn't bother to explain that the place was on fire, that there was no where to go back _to_ , they just kept perfect, non-fearful eye-contact at all times.

Next, Edmund came and took Lucy's hand just as Billy had taken Lyra's. His gaze unwaveringly on the guards, he spat at them and hissed, "Go on, then!"

A wolf-dæmon growled; it wasn't a handsome wolf like Maugrim, it was a hideous, dark brownish-gray thing with wet yellow teeth and flashing wicked eyes of a reddish-orange.

Pantalaimon swallowed hard; Reepicheep let out a low roar, looking even more panther-like now, as though he were an enchanted cat of the beautiful race once worshiped in ancient Egypt in the time before fairy-tales.

Bella, coming out from the middle of the child-crowd, her dæmon in the shape of a young tiger now, hurled a snowball at one of the guard's heads.

Lyra spat at them, just as Edmund had done, nailing the one closest to her right above the cheek. "Go away!"

There came from behind a cry; the Gyptians were coming; Iorek was with them, Lee Scoresby and Peter ridding on his back atop his armour which shimmered with its rusty gleam in the dim, murky moonlight. Lee Scoresby had his own rifle and fired it threateningly at two of the guards who tried to get in his way. Arrows flew, and children were being ushered amidst all the madness and battling, to where the sleighs were.

A guard tried to grab Lucy when Edmund had let go of her hand to help a poor child some three years his junior escape from a nurse who had somehow gotten amongst the guards and was trying to haul the poor thing away.

"Better not touch me," Lucy warned the guard, taking a step back, Reepicheep yowling angrily.

Peter's sword sliced at his hip, injuring the guard and knocking him down onto his side.

"I warned him," said Lucy as Peter took her hand and tried to get her as far away from the heart of the battle as possible.

He ended up leaving her with Farder Coram, figuring no guards would attack him first, seeing as he was so old and somewhat crippled, and went to find Susan, worried because he couldn't see her.

The hunter with the fox-dæmon who had spoken before lunged cruelly at Farder Coram, knocking the old Gyptian man and Lucy both onto the ground. Farder Coram's dæmon landed protectively on top of Reepicheep, keeping him away from the fox's clacking teeth.

It looked as though the hunter intended to pierce Farder Coram right through with some sort of spear-like object, but then out of nowhere came a beautiful dark-haired woman who jammed the tip of an arrow into the hunter's stomach before he could harm them.

"Serafina!" Farder Coram gasped as the witch queen nodded deeply and grabbed onto his hand, helping him up.

"I owed you." said Serafina Pekkala with a small smile spreading across her face. "A life in exchange for a life, Farder Coram."

"The witches!" someone-it turned out to be Lyra-screamed.

Lucy looked up and saw the sky nearly filled with flying non-human creatures riding upon their cloud-pine branches, coming to their aid, ready to fight.

They were the very same witches Iorek had seen flying off to war when he, Peter, and Lyra had been traveling towards the little house in the snow valley before. They were flying-not to the aid of their enemies as they had feared-but to help them in their battle against Bolvangar. Behind them, stars streamed down like silver rain, landing on the ground, glowing in their brilliance, fighting the guards-keeping them away from the children and the Gyptians.

"Ramandu's daughter!" cried Lucy, looking over to the left where a beautiful woman in a midnight-coloured garment with her long golden hair held back in a sparkling silver hair-net that stopped neatly at her brow in a crown-like circlet stood holding a pearl-hilted sword made entirely of solid gold.

Meanwhile, Susan was making a run for a tall pine tree as quickly as her tired legs would carry her, escaping the pursuit of two enormous wolf-dæmons and their guards. She managed to swing herself up, but failed to get Maugrim up behind her so that he was trapped on the ground with the other wolves.

A cry of dismay escaped from her throat; it was pale-sounding and she quivered on her shaking, half-rotted branch.

One of the wolf-dæmons sank their horrid, foul-smelling candy-corn-coloured teeth into Maugrim's neck and a bay and adjourning whimper jumped out of his mouth.

Susan tried to swallow, but quickly found it too hard. Her skin, already blue with cold, went purple from lack of air through Maugrim's pain, and she felt her head spinning, the world swimming before her eyes.

That was how Peter found her; hurt, frightened, and on the edge of her endurance. He thought of charging towards the men and shoving Rhindon right into the wolf-dæmon's heart until it relaxed its jaw; however, he feared the guards stopping him or the dæmon sensing him somehow and snapping poor Maugrim's neck in half before he could rescue Susan.

A passing Gyptian-Caspian-thrust a bow and arrow into his hands, and Peter recoiled, fighting the urge to be sick. He knew he wasn't the best archer out there. For all his apparent raw talent with swords, he had very little of it when it came to shooting. He knew his aim wasn't good-that he might miss the target. He might hit the tree and miss the fighting wolves entirely. Worse, he might hit Maugrim by mistake, killing Susan instantly.

All the same, Peter knew he had to do this, and he had to get it right. His gloved fingers cramped around the bow; sweat encased his brows in ice that cut into him and made his upper eyelids smart.

"Come on," he murmured under his breath, talking to himself as he took his aim. "don't funk this."

 _Twang!_ The arrow flew; gaining more and more speed as it hurdled towards Maugrim and the other wolf-dæmon. There was dried blood on Maugrim's neck; and a vein pulsed madly as though cut into on Susan's. The arrow struck a wolf's fur; golden Dust poured out and the creature burst. Susan nearly fainted, falling down from the tree onto a snow bank, thinking for a moment that it was her Maugrim and that she was about to die, too.

It wasn't Maugrim, however, Maugrim stood up and shook crimson-stained snow off of his back, limping over to his mistress, and the other wolf's human was dead.

Peter took off running towards where he saw her fall and scooped her up into his arms the second he reached her. "Susan! Susan! Talk to me, Susan."

She moaned and opened her eyes. "Hullo,"

"Oh, thank god!" His whole body shaking with hysterics, he kissed her forehead.

She sat up in his lap in the snow and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, Peter!"

Maugrim stared blankly at them for a moment, dazed, almost as if he didn't even know who they were for a split second before his mind cleared and it all came back to him-the woman was his human, the man his human's husband.

"I was so worried," said Peter, his voice trembling. "I should have never let you-"

"Shh..." She put her finger to his lips. "Don't."

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes," She reassured him.

"Nothing broken?" Peter asked, holding her tighter still.

"I don't think so." Susan answered demurely.

He kissed her on the mouth and she kissed him back for a second, clinging to him as though she was trying to feel his heart-beat through his coat, as if he were as close to her as her own dæmon.

"Don't waste time _kissing_!" Maugrim rolled his eyes, giving Susan a firm nudge and Peter a light nip on the hand. "We're bloody in the middle of a battle!"

The battle for Bolvangar went on and on into the night; the witches and stars fighting for the Gyptians while they got as many children as possible into their sleighs and onto their horses and reindeer and carried them off.

"Billy!" Ma Costa screamed when she saw her own son in the group she was helping. "Oh, my little boy, it's you!"

"Mother!" Billy Costa felt loving arms around him and hawk feathers against Ratter's side.

When he pulled away, he began searching for Lyra. He found her at last in a small huddle talking with Peter and Susan, Maugrim panting at their side, Pan an ermine a few inches away from the wolf's paws.

"Come on, Lyra!" Billy raced over to her and tugged at her hand. "Time to go home now-mosta the guards is dead and the stars wont let 'em win."

"I can't, Billy." she said, glancing over at Lee Scoresby-who, Billy realized, had been talking to them too-and then back at Susan. "I've got to go take the alethiometer to my father, the one he gave to the Master all those years ago, it might help him somehow."

"Your father?" He blinked at her, confused.

"Lord Asriel," Lyra explained quickly, recounting an abbreviated version of what Susan had just told her. "The Ruling powers...they're gonna kill him."

"The aeronaut's gonna take you?"

She nodded and, finding Lucy and Edmund suddenly at her side, grabbed onto her half-sister and half-brother's hands, giving them a light squeeze.

"God speed, Lyra," whispered Billy as she and Lucy hugged him goodbye. "God speed."

In her Zeppelin, Mrs. Coulter watched the cold gray dawn coming above the besieged, smoky, burned-brick ruins of what had once been her Bolvangar. The golden monkey stared, wide eyed and disgusted, and slipped his slinky arms around his lady's middle, crying into her fur-lined blouse.

"Should we chase them at once? So we don't have to track them down later?" one of her tall-framed menservants asked eagerly.

Lady Marisa patted her dæmon's back and shook her blonde head, pulling a soft coat of mink fur around them both. "Don't bother; I know where my children are going."

In the back of Lee Scoresby's air-ship, her back-and the backs of Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lyra-pressed against Iorek's warm pelt, Lucy yawned heavily, knowing she was about to fall asleep. Reepicheep was in his largest mouse form, already more than half-asleep in her lap. Peter and Edmund were already asleep, too, and Susan and Lyra were well on their way there. Maugrim's head was down on his paws, and Pan was a little ferret, curled up into a ball near Lyra's feet. Ella perched on a small crate of food supplies near the corner where Edmund slept with one fist curled and the other relaxed.

"We actually did it, Reep," murmured Lucy. "Now all that's left is to save Lord Asriel."

Reepicheep opened his eyes into little slits and fixed his slightly askew golden band with the red feather. "Do you think we're going back to Jordan College-after we rescue your father-I mean, Lord Asriel, from the ruling powers?"

"Of course, Reep, Peter's still a scholar, after all. But first we've got a bit to sort out," Another large yawn shook her, she shrugged it off in order to finish up her thought first. "Lyra thinks all we have to do is bring Lord Asriel the golden compass and then everything will be just fine, but we don't know that for sure, and the Ruling Powers aren't just going to let us go back to Jordan without a fight."

"But we'll win, wont we, Lucy?" Reepicheep said bravely.

"Of course," whispered Lucy as her eyelids closed and she curled up with her hands wrapped in Iorek's soft fur-far better than any muff she'd ever used.


	52. Falling out

The sky was crisp and clear at first in spite of the occasional bursts of little rock-like frozen wind-chunks which Lee Scoresby liked to call 'sky ice', and as the aeronaut was bundled up against the elements, he was quite comfortable. His dæmon, Hester, looked no less comfortable than he felt, the hare's rabbit-head, twisting and cocking itself in time with that of her human at turns when she stopped causally hopping around the main front of the air-ship.

There was a flash out of no where, a pale silvery flash, and for a moment Lee Scoresby thought a giant comet of sorts was coming right towards the ship, about to smash it to bits. Then, it was all as if he had only imagined it, because there was no collision, only a beautiful star-maiden sitting delicately on the ship's railing. It was Ramandu's daughter, freshly returned from the Bolvangar battle, judging by the cobalt scratches on one of her cheeks, but she looked quite well otherwise. Happy, too. Evidently, they'd won. The Gyptians had had success, even if Mrs. Coulter would surely not stand for it, much less the Ruling Powers. But that could all be dealt with later, couldn't it? For now they might as well enjoy whatever victories they secured for themselves. They had destroyed Bolvangar; that was no little thing, no small deed.

"I beg pardon, miss." Lee took off his hat and tipped it politely in her presence, even though it was too cold for that. "I took a mighty turn for the worse as far as panic goes when I saw you a-comin'. I reckoned you were a giant rock about to-"

Ramandu's daughter smiled and raised her hand slightly to quiet him. "How are the girls, Scoresby?"

"Lyra and Lucy?" he blinked as though this was the last question he expected her to ask-and perhaps it was.

"Yes,"

"I reckon they're well!" said Lee Scoresby. "Course they'd be-all tucked in back there and what not."

"That is good," said the star maiden. "but I must confess my fears: I'm a bit worried about them going straight to Lord Asriel like this."

Hester cocked her head again and her master scratched his under his hat (which he had of course put back on by this point). "I thought he was a good feller...Lyra's father, I was told."

"He is," the star assured him. "No questions there, they even _look_ like father and daughter in some ways."

"Well, beggin' your pardon again, Miss, but I don't see the problem."

"We stars know of a prophecy regarding those girls-the female children of Lord Asriel having each one their own alethiometer...but, we don't know details, not even a little bit. The prophecy is vague enough that we can't say anything bad will necessarily happen upon their going to see Asriel, and it is their own choice, when it comes down to it, we would never wish to openly impede their free will, however-" she paused and her eyes seemed to darken a shade. "-we fear Lord Asriel's attitude sometimes...how we are to know what side he's on? Serafina Pekkala says since he hates the Ruling Powers, he's one of ours, but of course, even _she_ can't be sure...he might have his own will in mind-we don't know."

"Are you sayin' I shouldn't take the girls to Lord Asriel?" Lee Scoresby asked in a careful tone, not sure what emotion was right to convey at the moment.

The star shuddered and shook her head. "No, take them where they tell you to, that is your job in all of this-part of your place in this great war...but...be careful, all right?"

"I'm a careful man, lady," said Lee Scoresby, not boastingly, but in a prideful enough tone all the same. "I couldn't fly this thing if I wasn't."

"You're such funny things, humans," mused Ramandu's daughter quietly, speaking more to herself than to Lee Scoresby. "So very beautiful, some of you, yet...so delicate...you can't fly like a star, or even like a witch upon a cloud-pine branch, yet you all want to see what's up here. Sometimes you even love it as much as we do-but you can't stay, you feel too cold, or you get sick...I've always thought it strange."

"You've taken a fancy to that Telmarine Gyptian leader, if you don't mind my pointing it out." Lee Scoresby smiled impishly; ignoring Hester clearing her throat to remind him of his manners.

The star sighed deeply, thinking about him, knowing she was falling in love with this Caspian just as she had with the first. "His ancestor was my lover once, you see,"

"Oh."

"Yes, I miss him a lot, it's a pain that's always there." She blinked back glittering tears that glowed as brightly as starlight itself. "Except when I see this Caspian, the tenth of that name-he's so like him."

"Why don't you tell him?" Lee Scoresby suggested.

"No," she sighed. "Better not to-I couldn't go through that again and it would be far too strange for him. He wouldn't have me."

There was a stir and a yawn coming from the back of the ship, behind the curtain.

"Ah, I think someone's waking up back there," laughed the aeronaut merrily.

No sooner had his merriment shown itself than it ended; for a giant wind suddenly smacked viciously at the air-ship's side, nearly knocking him over. Ramandu's daughter remained on the railing; stars didn't often fall from objects, usually when they fell it was directly from some accident in the sky itself.

Lyra peeked her head out from behind the curtain just as another wind attacked the ship. It was from the other side this time. "What's happening?"

"A mighty high-up snow blower!" shouted Lee Scoresby, looking nervous now, in light of massive snow storm they were trying to fly through. "Better get a hold of something and cling to it like grim death."

Stunned and frightened into instant obedience, Lyra grabbed the railing and held on until her fingers ached; Pan became a fire-fly and buzzed maddeningly by her right ear. At least the little light was cheerful, a teeny beacon of hope in the hopelessly torn sky.

Edmund and Peter, followed by Lucy and Susan, came out next to ask the aeronaut why it suddenly felt as though the ship was attempting to shake itself into smithereens. Maugrim, out of instinct, tossed his head back and howled at the wind.

"I'll search for a break in the storm!" Ramandu's daughter told them, leaping down from the railing into the sky like a blazing diamond with a shimmering blue tail.

Lucy carried the silver alethiometer in one hand and Reepicheep in a small deer mouse form in the other. Perhaps she was thinking that she might try to use it to discover-truthfully-if there was any safer way to ride out the storm, or else she might have just wanted it close to her for comfort. Whatever the case, what happened next was disastrous, the pocket watch slipped slightly from Lucy's grasp and Reepicheep-trying to catch it for her-lunged, missed, and fell over-board, their bond pulling his human over the ship's side with him. Susan, who was standing the closest to Lucy at the moment, grabbed her arm, thinking to help her somehow even though it was too late for her dæmon, and was pulled over-board as well. Maugrim felt pain, a tugging, and a buzzing in his ears. To avoid painful separation, being ripped away from his human in this tragic accident, he flung his wolf-body over the railing and let himself hurtle towards the ground with her.

"Lucy! Susan!" Peter, Edmund, and Lyra started screaming at the tops of their voices the moment the two girls vanished, plummeting downwards, but there was nothing they could do about it.

If Lucy and Susan had fallen onto hard, rocky ground, this story would have had a very different ending, one that concluded with the bleak, cruel, terribly unfortunate deaths of two of the leading ladies; thankfully, that was not the case. They were far up north where everything was not only covered in snow, it _was_ more or less snow. So much snow that while there was presumably some kind of ground and dirt under it, no one could have actually proved that. The icy sleet was endless; and as much as it still hurt to have freezing faces and swollen limbs, it wasn't as bad as bleeding to death on a summery rock-land would have been.

Lucy came-to first, and shaking snow off of her head and neck and back, sat up and held Reepicheep in his red panda form to her chest, clinging to him like they were stranded on a desert island all by themselves. Then, a few seconds later, Susan awoke and her hand instantly went to her belly. In spite of her initial worry, she was somehow pretty sure the baby in there was all right, that she would have known deep inside of her if it was dead, and she inhaled deeply.

Next, she hastily dug her poor wolf-dæmon out of the snow and threw her arms around his neck. "Maugrim, do you know where we are?"

The wolf shivered. "Not sure,"

"We can't stay here," said Susan, grabbing Lucy's arm and pulling her up, ready to take charge. "we'll freeze to death if we don't keep moving."

Reepicheep became a white and brown wolf and pressed his warm fur against Lucy's side as they trudged along with Susan and Maugrim through the endless tundra, searching for shelter.

After walking for what might have been hours (they had no way of keeping time at the moment), a cozy-looking cabin made of very high-quality wood, inlaid with gold and insulated glass, appeared on a low hill. It was a strange sight indeed, but of course they knew who it had to belong to without even giving it much thought. No one would live this far up north unless they were experimenting or hiding (likely both), and no one could afford-or force others to afford-such extravagance except a very in-your-face, powerful nobleman. It had to be Lord Asriel's so-called 'little study' that Mrs. Coulter had spoken of.

"We made it," Lucy breathed, throwing her arms around Reepicheep's soft neck and clinging to her dæmon for comfort before taking a step forward. She wished Lyra and the others were there; she wasn't sure she would feel comfortable talking one-on-one to Lord Asriel now that she knew he was her father, and she didn't have his golden compass-the alethiometer he'd given the Master. She didn't have what Lyra was so sure he needed. Well, at least she had Susan with her, so she wasn't completely alone.

"It looks peaceful enough," said Maugrim pensively, sniffing at the air. "I suppose that means we've beaten the Ruling Powers and gotten here first."

"We've beaten Lee Scoresby's air-ship, too, Maugrim." Susan said shakily, trembling from anxiety and from the bitter cold. "What if something happened to them? In the storm, I mean."

"I think they're more likely to be worried for _us_ ," Reepicheep, shifting into a large moon-coloured hare and hopping up into his human's arms, chimed in.

"He's right." Lucy said softly. "Ramandu's daughter was looking for a break in the storm and she probably found one."

"Lucy, I know Lord Asriel's your father, but supposing he doesn't let me stay..." Susan blurted out.

"Even he's not cruel enough to leave a pregnant woman out in the snow overnight!" Lucy insisted, forgetting that Susan had only ever seen Lord Asriel as a gruff, nerve-racking presence who was sneaking around with her mother and barely even acknowledged her.

"Very well, then," Susan nudged Lucy forward. "You and Reepicheep go on in front so he knows we're with you."

Lucy was baffled; she wasn't used to seeing Susan like this: so unsure and fearful as opposed to her unusual know-everything, logical, orderly personality.

"Come on," she said after a quiet moment of nothing but blinking and whirling snowflakes. "He wont be upset with us-after all, we can warn him about the Ruling Powers."

"That's true," murmured Susan, her lips nearly blue and her teeth chattering slightly as they approached the large, thick mahogany, gold-handled front door.

Back up in Lee Scoresby's airship, Peter was beside himself with grief. Both his sister and his wife lost over-board, hurlting down at goodness-knows what rate, gone in less than four seconds. He hadn't been able to save them. Feeling desperately alone, he envied Edmund and Lee Scoresby with their dæmons, and wished he could talk to his soul as they did. Maybe then he wouldn't feel trapped and broken, cut off from everything as he rested with his head against the ship's side, his eyes tightly shut. He even wished-passively-for Doe; she had been left with the Gyptians, and even though she was probably missing him terribly, she wasn't a real dæmon-he might just as easily have had a doll and pretended _that_ was his dæmon.

Lyra, Pan curled up as an ermine around her neck, checked her alethiometer; asking it if Susan and Lucy were still alive. "They aint dead!"

Ella squawked with relief and Edmund exhaled. Peter opened his eyes and glanced hopelessly down at the never-ending sky below them. How could they have possibly survived that? Yet, he hadn't know the alethiometer to be wrong. Unless, of course, if Lyra wasn't reading it right...and only _thought_...no, he couldn't bear that...they were alive, they had to be.

In the end, they decided to take the air-ship down and send Iorek out to look for them.

"Peter," Edmund said suddenly, hopping down from the ship onto the ice patch next to the white bear. "stay with Lyra and make sure Scoresby gets her to Lord Asriel in time-I'm going with Iorek."

Much as Peter tried to argue that he was the one who ought to be going with the armoured bear to look for his wife and sister, Edmund got his way in the end and left on Iorek's back with Ella on his shoulder, fluttering her wings to wave goodbye to Pantalaimon.

"We'll make it," Lyra tried to cheer the dæmonless boy up. "And when we find Lord Asriel, he'll be so glad to see us all there to help him! We're bringing him what he needs-aint we?"

Peter wasn't sure why; but those last words: 'We're bringing him what he needs' sent unexpected shivers up his spine as if he could see the future and felt Lord Asriel tearing something he 'needed' away from them. What if it wasn't the alethiometer he needed? What if it were something else? Something that would be far more painful to give up. But, if so, what could it possibly be?


	53. Dust, Power, and Original Sin

The door of Lord Asriel's 'little study' creaked open and a sleek-furred black-and-brown pincher stuck his head out and barked once.

Susan recoiled and Lucy clutched Reepicheep a little tighter. Then, Maugrim seemed to sense something, and a surprisingly mild, "Hallo there!" came out of the pincher's mouth. It was a dæmon. His human, a lean, middle-aged, friendly-faced manservant was standing behind him, hidden unwittingly by the shadows of the wall.

The manservant's name was Thorold, and while he was something of a boring person, having no apparent purpose in life beyond catering to Lord Asriel's each and every whim, he was a friendly soul and harmless enough under most circumstances. Susan, at least, felt some relief when she saw him; he was very straight forward and not at all angry, just as causal as if they had merely arrived unexpectedly for tea.

"We're here to see Lord Asriel, if you please, sir." Lucy said politely as the pincher-dæmon sniffed at Maugrim and then at Reepicheep in her arms.

"Certainly, certainly," said Thorold, waving them in. "Right this way-he's busy at the moment, but I'm sure he'll be pleased enough to have company."

As they walked further in, away from the glass parts of the house, it grew darker, lit mostly by oil lamps and projectors. The hallway was lined with bookshelves housing tomes with worn spines of leather and copper, and the room adjourning to it had dark brown borders and a coffee-coloured carpet, perfectly neat and clean if one could ignore the faint smell of tobacco-ash.

Lord Asriel, dressed in a warm-looking woolen gray sweater and well-pressed black slacks, sat at his desk, shaving off his beard. He had just finished and wiped his chin clean, nodding briefly at his reflection in the little mirror propped against the back of a brass microscope, seeming satisfied with the results, when he saw-out of the corner of his eye-a young girl of about twelve enter the room.

For a half-second, he seemed extremely pleased; then he recognized her and his eyes widened with horror as he flung back his chair and shouted, "Get back! I didn't send for _you_! Anyone but you!"

Lucy hadn't expected him to be so angry, she took a step back. "No, I came to help you-to warn you about the Ruling Powers..."

He looked like he was going to scream at her again, indeed his mouth opened for it, but then he blinked-surprised at something-and promptly shut his lips and tightened his jaw-line.

Susan had come behind Lucy and placed her hand on her sister-in-law's shoulder, wondering why on earth Asriel was being so harsh on his own daughter who'd come, not to bother him, but to warn him of great danger.

Stranger still, Lord Asriel's eyes were no longer on Lucy at all-they were on _her_. She felt uncomfortable under his meditative gaze, somehow knowing without him saying anything that he could tell she was with child. She wasn't showing very much yet, but one could presumably tell if they looked closely enough, as her stomach was a little rounder than it would have been otherwise.

Turning his attention back to his daughter, Asriel's look was milder, an expression of relief and calmness washing over his stern, clean-shaven face. "Lucy,"

"Lyra was with us but we got separated." Lucy said, unable to read his expression, trying to guess at what had been bothering him up until a moment ago.

"Alright, then." Lord Asriel nodded. To Thorold, he said, "Draw a bath for these two and prepare them some food."

"Yes, certainly, my Lord." the manservant replied, bowing quickly before walking off at a reasonable speed to obey.

"You're Edmund Coulter's daughter," Lord Asriel said to Susan randomly-it was a statement, not a question.

"Yes." Susan muttered monosyaballicly, feeling afraid of him without fully understanding why. Maugrim growled cautiously at Stelmaria, but the snow leopard merely blinked indifferently at him in return.

"You're with child," he added.

Instinctively pressing her hand to her belly, she didn't want to answer this question, but the snow leopard growled, so much more intensely than Maugrim had ever growled, and she blurted out a quick, "Yes."

"Thank you, that's all I need to know." Lord Asriel said, sighing deeply, giving his dæmon a light pat on the head while he spoke. "Thorold will see that you are both washed up in time for supper."

"Come along," Thorold popped back into the room, his pincher trotting briskly at his side. "the bath is drawn."

Lucy noticed little tears glittering brightly in Susan's eyes. "It's alright, Su, we're safe now." she tried to reassure her.

Lord Asriel took a step closer to her and, smiling down at his daughter, he said, "I want to thank you, Lucy, for bringing me exactly what I needed."

He knows I have an alethiometer of my own! Thought Lucy, wondering if she ought to give Lord Digory's silver pocket watch to him-not to keep, of course, but to borrow if he somehow already knew about it and needed it so badly.

As if she were trapped in slow motion, Lucy bent down and put Reepicheep on the floor where he shifted into his golden band with the red feather mouse form, and reached into her pocket for the silver alethiometer. She held it out to Asriel with shaking hands, not sure if she was doing the right thing or not.

He glanced at it with crinkled brows. "What the devil is that?"

"It's an alethiometer," said Lucy, her throat suddenly very dry.

"Of course it is," he replied patronizingly.

Undeterred, she tried again. "I know it's not the one you gave to the Master-Lyra has that one-but I can read this one and...and if there was something...something you wanted to know..."

His dæmon laughed shortly and smiled up at her human as he wiggled his fair left brow at her. To Lucy, he chuckled, "That was very...er... _thoughtful_ of you."

"But I thought-"

"It's yours, Lucy, I wont take it from you," Lord Asriel told her, done talking for now. "Go to your bath, you smell as if you haven't washed up properly for a while."

"Don't you need-"

"No, it's of no use to me, go on now and don't argue or I shall be angry again."

Outside of the marble-and-brass bathroom, there was a little ledge sort of seat next to a high-up slotted wooden-bar-covered opening so that whoever was bathing could talk quietly to whoever was sitting on the seat without them being in the same room.

Susan, who was taking her bath first, whispered to Lucy through it. "I don't like the way he looks at me, Lu, I don't trust him."

"He did seem strange...perhaps he's gone a bit mad being up here all alone." Lucy suggested, gently rubbing the back of her hands absently against Reepicheep's soft mouse-fur while she spoke.

"No, that's not it, he isn't mad exactly..." Susan mused, shivering even in bath water hot enough to boil a lobster. "...something else...like how upset he was when he first saw you and thought you had come alone."

"He was shocked, that's all, anyone would have been surprised to see somebody they weren't expecting-except maybe Thorold." Lucy said quickly, wondering, even as she was speaking, why she was bothering to defend Lord Asriel.

Susan sat up straighter in the tub and lifted the damp tips of her long hair over one shoulder, leaning her head closer to the opening. "I hate to admit it, but I will: I'm scared of him, terrified."

"Why?" asked Lucy. Sure Lord Asriel was a strange, stern, rather alarming nobleman and all that, but for someone as practical as Susan to be _that_ frightened of him was unsettling.

"I don't know," she shuddered, unable to harness her fiercely-flashing thoughts. "but I'm more afraid of him than I ever was of my mother, let's just put it that way."

"You find _Lord Asriel_ more frightening than _Mrs. Coulter_?" Lucy gasped in disbelief, figuring that while something was amiss, much of that had to be due to the fact that Susan had grown up around Lady Marisa and thus was used to her kind of scariness.

Susan laughed to herself-it sounded forced but it wasn't completely so. "It's silly, I know it's silly-maybe I should stop going on about it."

"I think he is glad to see us...deep down..." Lucy mulled, standing up and trading places with Susan as she walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a dressing-gown of pale yellow silk. "...he just has such a funny way of showing it-I think he really _is_ mad, Susan."

"No, he's perfectly sane," retorted Susan, thinking to herself that that was what scared her the most about the whole matter.

"Do you think the Ruling Powers will come and kill all of us since we're here with him now?" Reepicheep wanted to know, resting in his golden-brown cat form on the sill of the opening.

"No," said Maugrim, placing his paws into his human's lap and resting his head down between them. "I don't. Lord Asriel knows they're coming now-thanks to us. He'll make sure the place is deserted before they arrive."

"All the same," Susan whispered, speaking mostly to herself. "I do wish-"

"Wish what?" Lucy asked curiously.

"Nothing." she said shortly, waving it off. "Just that your brother was here with us. I think I'd feel a bit safer if he were." She sighed to herself and stroked Maugrim's ears, thinking about her husband.

Lucy had her bathe, not bothering to see which way Reepicheep was looking. Whereas the ladies of high society (like Susan) had been trained from well before they even hit puberty to have their dæmon never look at them when they were indecent, as a matter of etiquette, Lucy thought that was all rot. It seemed stupid, really, to have your dæmon look away as if it weren't even truly a part of you-it was as pointless as keeping your own eyes shut the whole time you washed yourself. Still, such engrained habits and attitudes were hard to break, she supposed, and it figured that they were passed down from those families who were too prudish to know better. Lyra, for example, raised amongst the smug, free-thinking professors and scholars, would have never bothered with such a superstitious, overly-concerned tradition. Before she'd gone to live with Mrs. Coulter, she didn't even know other people did that.

After they'd both finished their washing up, Thorold directed them back into Lord Asriel's study where a tea-tray filled with fine food had been put out for their supper. Obviously, Lord Asriel's sense of luxury regarding his surroundings and material objects had gone as deep as his stomach as well. There was nothing missing from that meal: cold ham, hot pea soup, fresh coffee (Tea for Susan and Lucy; if Lyra had been there, she would have taken coffee, but it was a little strong for them), steaming bread rolls with soft insides and flaky crusts, rich yellow butter offered on a dish made of black marble, lobster meat, and fried onions seasoned with the most expensive kind of salt one could buy. For dessert they had their choice of brown-sugar cake topped with clear icing or a colourful fruit salad dipped in rose-water dressing. The cups they sipped from were rimmed with real gold and had stems of solid silver-the clear glass in the middle twinkled in a rather glacial manner.

"Lord Asriel," Lucy said suddenly, interrupting the quiet grunts of their three dæmons and the light clinking of their diamond-studded, gold-plated silverware, talking over them both. "I want to ask you something."

He looked up and glanced at her. His blue eyes sparkled with a queer mix of curious interest and mild annoyance at her words. "What it is?"

Glancing from Susan and Maugrim, watching the wolf's bright eyes flash yellow and red with anxiousness over the unknown, to Lord Asriel and his calm Stelmaria who's eyes, normally blue like her master's, looked sort of tawny-hazel, even-in the candlelight lit room.

"I think," she said, swallowing hard as Reepicheep rested his golden-brown cat form at her feet, his ears pricked up eagerly. "I think, Lord Asriel, that Susan and I have a right to know-since we came all this way. What _is_ Dust?"

Intrigued, Lord Asriel twisted his chin and pursed his lips in a thoughtful manner, trying to figure out how to explain it. "Well, they're particles. Did anyone ever explain to you what a particle is, Lucy?"

"Yes," she squirmed in her chair, wishing he'd get to the point faster, sensing even in her innocent mind how hard it seemed to be for him to stop being condescending in his speech-to the child who was supposedly his own daughter, no less. "Peter taught me; he teaches me everything."

"All right, so you know particles, that's a start." He placed his hand on his dæmon's head. "Do you know what original sin is, Lucy?"

"You mean like Adam and Eve? When Eve wasn't supposed to eat the fruit but she did and so God kicked them out of the garden?" Lucy asked. "In the first book of the Bible?"

"No, not in your brother's world, in this one." Lord Asriel explained.

"No," Lucy had to admit; she hadn't the foggiest idea what he was talking about.

"I think he means the story of Frank and Helen," Susan said softly, feeling very uncomfortable talking about the little bit of religious mythology she remembered from her mother's lessons. Wasn't this bordering on heresy? If it wasn't, she had the feeling it soon would. "The White Lady told them to eat the fruit but they wouldn't, and so they gave the silver apples of the tree in the garden to a wild lion."

Lord Asriel's dæmon blinked at her. "Lucy, fetch the book with the engraving of two snakes biting each other's tails from the self in the back, would you?"

She stood up, brushed some of the crumbs from the bread rolls off of her lap, got the book, and handed it to her father.

He flung the cover open and licked his thumb, searching through the pages for the one he wanted, "And this is what happened after that: _And Frank and Helen saw that the lion shone as bright as gold and sang up another tree, outside of the garden, of silver apples, but they were slightly different, lacking the power to give life everlasting. Sayth the White Lady, 'Because you have not listened to me, and have given what ought to have been your own to a wild beast who cares nothing for you, you shalt not have endless days, nor endless childhood-like weeks. Your dæmons, and your children's children's dæmons are from now on for ever subject to settling with the passing of time, no longer can they take any form they wish for ever. And you will die; dust to dust, ashes to ashes.'_."

Susan frowned and wrinkled her pretty little nose, puzzled. "But it's not _true_ , is it? Not like government and society and studies and things?"

With a disgusted glower, Lord Asriel slammed the book shut and tossed it aside. No one went to pick it up although Reepicheep cocked his head curiously in its direction and there was a struggle written across Lucy's face from not going to take a closer look at the tome.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "the text is horribly corrupt."

"How do you mean?"

"Well," he rolled his eyes. "Take for example the White Lady. It wasn't her garden to begin with, was it? Wasn't there something in a footnote of it belonging to the lion from the start? Of Frank and Helen, the first man and woman of this world, being told to get the apple for him? So what right does this so-called goddess have to punish them for doing their jobs?"

"I-I-I don't know," Susan stammered, feeling small and trapped under his tight gaze.

"People in charge, hungry for power and position, will do and say anything to keep their places and to keep on advancing in them. In your brother's world, Lucy, there is the story of Adam and Eve, as you mentioned. Did you know that, without even changing one single solitary word of the text, some knowingly misguided others into thinking that original sin was sex, not the eating of the fruit?"

Susan fought the urge to imitate Peter by covering Lucy's ears, surprised at Lord Asriel's ready usage of that particular word when speaking to his twelve year old daughter.

As for Lucy, she didn't respond-the Pevensie parents, bless them, were good-hearted, loving, tender people, but they were no more religious than average and had not given their children much more than the same basic Bible coverage their parents had given them, so she didn't know what to say.

"But there was a massive flaw in their plans, and when the common people learned to read better, they saw it clear as day." Lord Asriel continued. "They saw that god more or less _told_ Adam and Eve to reproduce. Big over-sight on the church's part, wouldn't you say? Thus, it _was_ the fruit after all."

Lucy nodded.

"Well, very much the same thing happened here in this world; the Ruling Powers wanted more power-they wanted to control people's lives, to tell them what to do. But, if they said one thing, and the text said another, would they risk a fall of office?"

Susan held up her palm and Maugrim's upper teeth showed themselves. "Wait a moment, are you suggesting that the text of law, the one everyone's gone by for generations is incorrect?"

"That's right," Lord Asriel answered.

"But-" said Lucy. "What has that got to do with Dust?"

"That's where they got the name, from the stories of so-called original sin...because humans are made of dust from the ground...so they borrowed the word for natural things they couldn't explain. Like the Lion; he used to be called Aslan, once."

Upon hearing the Lion's name, Lucy felt sure beyond any doubt that Lord Asriel was telling the truth, the White Lady was bad, and the lion, Aslan, was good.

"They say he sung Dust-powerfully charged particles-into the world after he ate the silver apple," Lord Asriel said somberly. "but that it was the White Lady's way of punishment, but it seems to be that this witch-that's what she really was, I believe-wouldn't have had anything to do with it."

"But why did they let their text get changed around like that?" Lucy wanted to know. "Not everyone could have been...well...all bad...bad enough for that, at least."

"Think about it," he blinked coolly. "Think really hard. Haven't you ever picked up a Bible, flipped to the middle of Psalms, and found 'Lord' where god's name ought to have been?"

She vaguely recalled Mr. Pevensie reading Psalms to her when she was little. "Well, sort of."

"Ah, now we're onto something, aren't we?" he smiled an irony-filled smirk. "If in your world, even good people let god's name be written out because they were afraid, couldn't our world have someone a little less important, someone like a lion who could sing land into existence, be written out to almost nothing-changed into a meaningless villain?"

"How do you know so much about Peter's world?" Susan demanded, finding her strong voice at last.

"I've been there."

"You have?"

"Yes, once there were many chasms between that world and this one, but they have grown fewer, the Ruling Powers like to destroy them, they want people to think this is the only world."

"What about that world in the Northern Lights you mentioned back at Jordan college?" Lucy asked.

"Dust flows from it directly into our world," he said softly, his eyes shinning brightly while he spoke. "I mean to go there-to that other place-and to find Dust. If it is sin after all, I'll destroy it, put the Ruling Powers right out of business, put an end to death. If it isn't sin, I'll prove it to not only our world, but to _all_ worlds."

"How do you intend to get to that other world, Lord Asriel?" Susan had heard enough nonsense for one evening, she thought. "Just leap into the aurora?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes, a door just needs to be opened first."

They were silent for a few moments until he grunted and added, "Your mother, Susan, she doesn't think far enough. She cuts children's dæmons away and she doesn't even see what she has going there."

"Huh?" Lucy blurted out. Reepicheep became a red fox and growled unexpectedly.

"When you cut a child away from its dæmon, the amount of energy that comes out is incredible! Mind-blowing! But does that silly Coulter woman ever think of that? No, she just figures its shock or whatever and keeps on cutting and letting all that energy go to waste. It's appalling, really, simply appalling." His dæmon bared her pearly teeth the same colour as her gleaming snowy-white fur.

Neither girl could think of a reply to that, they were too shocked and confused and overwhelmed with disgust.

"Good night," he said finally, in a commanding voice that told them flatly that the conversation was over, signaling for Thorold to show them to their beds.

That night, Susan was plagued by thoughts of what Lucy's father intended to do. Lucy seemed troubled as well, though mostly confused, but eventually sleep claimed her and she nodded off. Susan, however, rested more fitfully, tossing and turning as if it were the last night before an execution. She had the nightmare again, about Rabadash, except when she stood before the Ruling Powers, it was Lord Asriel who wielded the blade to behead her, not her ex-betrothed, and she saw the colours of the northern lights before her eyes shot open. Needless to say, she was tired and scared, but there was no one to comfort her, to wipe away her tears, this time.

A hand was over her mouth and, squinting in the darkness, she saw Lord Asriel with his finger to his lip, telling her to get up quietly.

"What's wrong?" Susan whispered, moving as far away from him as possible, yet still following his silent orders at the same time. "Have the Ruling Powers come?"

"Not yet," whispered Lord Asriel. "get dressed-warm clothes, its cold outside."

"Where are we going?" Susan asked, slipping on her boots and throwing a parka over her nightdress, having no intention of changing with Stelmaria staring at her and Maugrim so intently, not to mention Lord Asriel standing there, lightly tapping his right foot impatiently.

"Never mind that, just get ready."

"Lucy," Susan, with Maugrim at her heels, went to wake up her sister-in-law.

Lord Asriel grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back. "Don't wake her."

"Isn't she coming with us?" Susan felt her voice quiver and she knew she was trembling, though she couldn't make herself stop.

"No, hurry up."

"But where are we going?"

His dæmon growled and gave Maugrim a nip on one of his forelegs.

"Ow!" Susan bit her lip to keep from crying out.

"Hurry up," Lord Asriel said again.

"All right," she knew tears were rolling down her face, but was also aware that he didn't take note of them-so why should she try to keep them in check? "I'm coming."

As for where he was taking her, she still didn't know, and she dared not ask again.


	54. The ice bridge

"Miss! Miss!" A trembling, accidentally-rough, hand shook Lucy's shoulder.

Reepicheep, wondering who the stranger waking his human was, shifted into a black panther-one of his larger forms-and hissed protectively, ready for anything. Or so he thought. It was a pincher dæmon; Thorold's dæmon. And the man shaking Lucy's shoulder so urgently was not a stranger after all, but the Lord Asriel's manservant, Thorold himself, looking flustered and baffled, a cold sweat covering one side of his face.

Lucy sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Hmm?"

"Miss!" Thorold cried out again.

"What's wrong?" she murmured, still half asleep. "Have the Ruling Powers come for Lord Asriel?"

"No, they haven't come yet, but...but...my master's gone."

"Gone?" Her eyes were wide open now and she shot up straight as a poker, her bottom teetering at the edge of the bed. "Gone where?"

"I don't know," the manservant blurted out, his dæmon whimpering like a nervous puppy whenever her human stopped stammering to inhale deeply. "but he's...he's got the pregnant Coulter girl with him!"

"What? Why?" Lucy leapt out of her bed and dashed over to Susan's, just to be sure. "What does he want with her?"

"Oh, I'm such a fool," Thorold was all but steadily weeping now. "I should've known, but I'm not smart, you see, not like my master, I'm not-"

Sighing shortly, Lucy loaned him a handkerchief she'd found in one of the draws in the nightstand between her bed and Susan's, and the moment his blubbering quieted down a bit, she asked him what was going on.

"He needed a child...something to do with those northern lights and some chatter about a photogram and cutting...I don't know what he was talking about cutting, not exactly. Anyhow, he's got a way of bringing about whatever he wants-sending for things and getting them-he's a powerful man. And he was sending out for a child for a while...the child he needed for whatever he meant to do. I didn't realize..."

But what does that have to do with Susan? Lucy wondered, thinking to reach for the alethiometer and ask it for an explanation. Only it hit her before her fingers even locked around its extending silver chain. Not completely, but enough to scare her out of her wits, anyway.

Lord Asriel had sent for a child; he needed one to finish his experiment on the northern lights, to get into that other world, the world Dust was seeping in from. When he had seen Lucy, his own daughter by his late wife, Lady Sarah, he had been horrified. For one awful moment he had thought the fates had played a cruel trick on him and sent him his own daughter. Angry, he had wanted her to go away, to disappear so that he could pretend he'd only imagined her and that the child he needed was on the way. But then he saw Susan, and it was all better. No need to be upset any longer. Everything was all right with the world. His daughter was there; but that was okay; she had brought him what he needed.

Susan in herself wasn't all that useful to him, Maugrim already being settled into his wolf-form, never having been one to shift-shape much even when he could-having a mistress who had always behaved a bit older than she really was. However, the fact that there was a baby inside of her changed everything; the unborn baby was connected to Maugrim, so cutting Susan and her dæmon apart would cut the baby apart from Maugrim as well and release enough energy to tear a door open in the northern lights.

Checking the silver pocket watch through eyes blurred with tears, Lucy saw exactly what she had brought her father. Not an alethiometer. Susan. Unwittingly, she had betrayed Susan by bringing her here.

"No!" Lucy cried to herself, her hands shaking so badly she almost dropped her alethiometer on the floor. Reepicheep became a weasel and draped himself across her shoulders so that he could look down at the pocket watch, too. "He can't!"

"I didn't know, forgive me." Thorold faltered wearily. "I know I-"

"There's no time for that," wept Lucy, stuffing the silver alethiometer into her nightdress pocket and flinging a thick velvet, red-and-green, fur-lined cloak over her shoulders. "We have to hurry; you have to take me to them, Thorold!" She wiped her nose on her sleeve and swallowed the remaining sobs for the time being.

Thorold couldn't help her. "I've got no way of taking you anywhere, miss, no sleigh or beast of burden, it's freezing out there, and as Lord Asriel's servant, I'm not allowed to leave the grounds without his bidding."

Scowling at him, Lucy furrowed her brows angrily and stormed out of the room as soon as she had her boots on. If he wouldn't help her, she'd do it herself. She _would_ save Susan from Lord Asriel even if she had to do it alone. Thorold had woken her up, she supposed that was as far as his level of betrayal towards Asriel would run, but that didn't matter, either.

"Oh, Reepicheep," she whispered as she flung open the door and felt the icy air whip at her unprotected face. "what have we done? We should have known-she was so afraid, Reep, and we've betrayed her."

"We haven't!" Reepicheep protested weakly. "We didn't know what he was really going to do."

"Even Thorold figured it out before we did-sort of-and we're the ones with the alethiometer!" Lucy exclaimed, too upset for her dæmon's reasoning at the moment. "We guessed wrong, Reep. Don't you understand? Susan was right; he _was_ angry when he first saw us. We're as stupid as Mrs. Coulter and her horrid monkey, we thought it was just shock, and we were wrong."

A great white bear clad in armour with a pale-skinned, dark-haired boy of about fourteen or so-a snowy owl on his shoulder-riding on his back appeared on the horizon, drawing closer to Lord Asriel's front door.

"Iorek!" screamed Lucy as her heart thumped with an uncontrollable mix of fear and joy. "Edmund!"

"Lucy!" Edmund cried, jumping off of Iorek's back and running to her on his own two legs although Iorek, being a bear and much faster than him, ended up getting to her first anyway.

"Lucy Pevensie!" Iorek exclaimed happily when he stood almost nose-to-nose with Reepicheep in the form of a black-and-white husky dog.

"Oh, Lucy!" Edmund finally reached her, never-minding that he might have done just as well to stay on Iorek's back after all, and threw his arms around her. "After you and Susan fell out of the air-ship...we were so _worried_!"

Pulling away from his embrace, ignoring its warmth and her desire to rest within it and its protection, Lucy began to cry again and begged Iorek to take off his armour so that they could travel towards the northern lights as quickly as possible. Ella attempted to approach Reepicheep but he backed away.

In a flash, Lucy was on the bear's broad white back, Reepicheep in the form of a black mole at her side, and Edmund clinging to her waist, Ella on his left shoulder again.

"We have to stop them, Iorek," Lucy urged the bear onwards, stuffing her bare hands into the matted, muff-like folds of his thick fur. "The alethiometer says he'll hurt Susan."

Less than half-way there a loud humming nose loomed from above them, and Edmund cursed under his breath. It was his mother's Zeppelin.

"Mrs. Coulter!" Ella cawed in distress (she would not refer to her as 'your mother' to her human any longer).

"She's seen us!" Lucy buried her face in the fur along with her hands, praying for strength.

"How did she get here so fast?" Edmund demanded, talking to himself.

"She must have known where we were going all along." Ella guessed, flying off of his shoulder and hissing a cold, bird-hiss at the Zeppelin's ever-gaining shadow.

Someone on-board fired an arrow from a crossbow, not at Edmund or Lucy or their dæmons, but at Iorek; seeing that he had no armour on, trying to take him down. He moved faster, avoiding the arrows with still and swiftness, muttering that he was sick and tired of being shot at. It took strenuous effort, but Iorek managed to out-run the Zeppelin in the end and soon they could see the beautiful rainbow-like glory of the northern lights in the distance.

It was like a million pieces of church-window-sized stain-glass had been hit full force with more moonlight than the moon itself could hold, making the colours dance across the snow and casting shadows of pink and purple under themselves. In spite of herself, Lucy couldn't help gazing in breathless wonder at its beauty. It was easy to believe it was a door to another world. It _did_ look magical. It wasn't like witch's magic, though, she thought, it was older, wilder, and more striking. It was more like the stars when they came down as if silvery rain than it was like the witches on their cloud-pine branches, save for the variety of colour, ever so many more shades than mere silvers or blues.

They then came to what Lucy's blood-shot, swirling, screwed-up eyes at first mistook for a rainbow bridge until she saw it wasn't made of rainbows, it was made of clear ice and only _reflected_ the light of the aurora. Squinting, they could see the marks left by Lord Asriel's sleigh; sharp, unattractive scratches like an ice-skate's blade marring up a smoothly frozen lake.

"It doesn't look like it can hold much weight," Edmund said, getting off of Iorek's back to examine it more closely. "I don't think it will hold Iorek's."

Iorek considered this for a moment, then he said, "You two go. I will find Peter, Lyra, and Scoresby and tell them where you are going."

Lucy nodded, knowing frozen tears were digging into her face like miniature knives, but being too numb to really feel the pain from it. At least she had Edmund with her. And she always had Reepicheep. She wasn't completely alone. Not like Jill had been without Isi all those years ago; or Roger without his Salcilia; or like Billy would have been without Ratter. It was a frightening prospect-to cross this bridge-but she knew if she didn't do it, Susan would be no better off than those poor souls had been. She might even die. Lord Asriel wouldn't spare her, not while he was so keen on getting to that other world and finding Dust.

"Goodbye, Lucy Pevensie." Iorek's eyes passed over her meditatively, but they lingered on Edmund a while longer, as if he was secretly worried about him-perhaps because it was his sister in danger, or because it was his mother's Zeppelin that was pursuing them, or simply that in the core of his bear-heart Iorek cared for the boy and wanted all to go well with him. "Goodbye, Edmund Belacqua."

"Goodbye, Iorek."

With that, the bear gave them both one last glance and then dashed away, disappearing in the darkness of the night and the crisp whiteness of the snow.

Edmund took Lucy's hand and led her to the start of the ice-bridge. "Step just behind me and don't move your feet anywhere until you've seen me put mine there first, all right?"

Willing herself not to wince, to pretend like it was only a balance beam or a tree she might have easily conquered until it was over, Lucy nodded yes. She knew her voice was weak, worn from crying and cold, and she didn't want Edmund to hear it and worry. She let her hand slide up from his woolen gloves to the side of his coat where she made her grip firm.

Ella flew ahead of them, over to the other side, and Reepicheep became a falcon and followed. It occurred to Edmund suddenly, watching their dæmons waiting for them, that if they fell, they might slice right through the bond between them and be cut away inadvertently. He gulped; he wished he hadn't thought about that. He mustn't panic, he knew, Lucy needed him to cross, if he fell she was going down with him, and Susan would need him to save her from Lord Asriel once he made it to the other side.

They were almost to the middle of the bridge when Lucy noticed that a moonbeam trickled directly through one of the thinner pieces. She could see all the way down into the fathoms below; a whirl-wind of pointy-looking ice and rock.

Edmund jolted her lightly. " _Don't_ look down."

She forced her eyes upwards and focused on the back of his earlobe, trusting him to guide her the rest of the way. If it had been Susan-or even Lyra-crossing, they would have been more afraid than Lucy was. It wasn't that she was naturally braver, it was just that her imagination led her to believe that there was a chance of making it through this. Recalling all of the fairy-tales she'd read in her life, she thought of how often heroines in the northern tales had to cross ice-bridges or face horrible monsters; it had always come out all right for them in the end. Maybe they weren't real, but the stories had to come from _somewhere_. Someone had to have made a journey like this before and lived to tell about it. And so would she, she decided, her mind firmly made up. They would make it.

When they were almost to the end, Edmund carefully spun around so as to pull Lucy in front of him. He told her to go first and that he would follow. Once she was safely across, standing beside her Reep with his Ella on her out-stretched arm, Edmund started to come across, too, but he must have stepped wrong or somehow it had become more slippery since Lucy had crossed it a moment ago, for he felt himself begin to fall, sliding right off the edge of the widest side of the bridge.

"Edmund!" Lucy screamed at the top of her voice. Ella flew over to her human and tried to lift him up with her beak, even though she knew she wasn't strong enough.

He did manage to lock his arms tightly around the harder, drier parts of the ice so that he didn't plummet to an untimely demise below, but it was doubtful how much longer he could hold on for.

Grunting and feeling the sweat on his forehead freeze solid, making his temples pound, he swung himself upright so that he could cling to the top of the bridge instead of the side of it. When that was accomplished, however, he found he couldn't move. He was paralyzed not only by his aching limbs, but all the more so by his own fear. He wasn't a moron, he knew he had just narrowly escaped certain death and his heart was making more noise then a parade's worth of booming drums. He couldn't do it; he couldn't move; he could barely keep breathing.

Vaguely, he was aware of Lucy calling to him, of her hand held out to take his and pull him over to safety. There was no way he could have responded. His blue lips quivered like a drunk man's and his teeth chattered. Nothing could get through to him, convincing him to pull himself together and get to the other side. He barely even felt Ella's feathers rubbing up against his unresponsive cheeks.

Then came the roar. It was unlike any sound Edmund had ever heard before. Indeed, he seemed to _feel_ it more than he _heard_ it. It was the sort of roar a person like Lucy would have described simply as golden. It made him feel scared enough to jump up and flee, and at the same time, warm inside. It was like he was an ice statue clinging to the bridge and the roar, the hot breath on the wind, was turning him into a flesh-and-blood boy again. Without further ado, he stood up, brushed the ice off of his knees and found himself on the other side, Lucy's arms around his waist and her face buried in his chest.

"Did you see him, Lu?" he asked when he found he was able to speak again.

"See who?"

"Your Lion,"

"My Lion?"

"The one you believed in before...he liked Dust or something..."

"Huh?" Lucy crinkled her forehead.

"You didn't see him?"

"See him when?"

"He was standing on the other side of the ice-bridge." Edmund told her, smiling. It figured she had been right about the Lion all along. But, then, that was just Lucy for you. It was one of the things he loved best about her. Besides, he knew she wouldn't say 'I told you so'.

Edmund's eyes had been shut and he had been facing the other way; a more practical-minded person would have pointed this out and disbelieved him. Lucy wasn't of that sort at all. She believed him with all her heart and she squinted over in the dim lighting of the moon, quite certain that if she tried hard enough, she would catch a glimmer of gold out of the corner of her eye.

As much as they might have wanted to, they couldn't stay squinting after the Lion for ever, Susan needed them and they knew they mustn't waste anymore time in getting to her.

"Come on," said Lucy; Reepicheep a falcon still. "we're almost there."


	55. The door in the Northern Lights

Some have said that there are few sights as awe-inspiring as seeing the aurora up close, that it can make blank canvases art and atheists believe in god, and that's true. At least, Lucy could believe that as she stood beside Edmund, the ice bridge a good ways behind them now as they clambered up a small line of snowy hills towards the nighttime rainbow that was the northern lights.

A pleading-sob rang out from the last hill, the one just behind them, so close to the northern lights that it seemed like one could almost touch them if they were standing there. Lucy thought it would feel like ribbons; strong ribbons of lace and velvet and satin, as many different rich fabrics as there were colours. She imagined that when the light from the bottom bathed your face in reflections, it felt like the tips of a slightly frayed thread at the bottom of a curtain, tickling the noses of whomever walked under it.

"Please, don't!" the cry came again. "You're hurting us."

There was no answer.

Another piteous effort. "Let him go!"

Nothing.

Edmund and Lucy were close enough to see for themselves now; Lord Asriel's dæmon had pinned Maugrim down into a partly-swooped snow-bank while her human was trying to attach some sort of wire to one of his paws. Susan was trying to get Maugrim free, attempting to push her way passed Lord Asriel and shove the snow leopard off of her wolf, but every time she got close enough, Asriel would just roll his eyes aggravatedly and elbow her roughly so that she felt backwards into the snow. Brushed her aside as if she was little more than a fly trying to get in his way while he was concentrating on something.

Giving up in despair, too cold and frightened for the clear, rational thought she was so well-known for, Susan attempted to run off. Lord Asriel, if he even noticed, didn't try to stop her. He knew perfectly well she wasn't going anywhere without Maugrim-that she couldn't move more than a few feet away from her dæmon. On her knees now, she tucked her feet under herself and started weeping into her hands. She was scared to death; she was alone, and she didn't know what Lord Asriel was doing. It had something to do with the northern lights and what he'd said before at supper, she figured, but she couldn't understand beyond that.

On the way up there, during that awkward sleigh ride, Maugrim had whispered something to her that made her blood run cold with the reality of what was happening. He'd said, "Susan, Peter doesn't know where we are, he can't help us if..." His voice had trailed off, but she got what he was trying to say. If anything went wrong, if they turned out to be in some horrible danger, Peter wasn't coming to rescue them-he wouldn't know where to look.

She would have gladly taken help from the Gyptians as well; how happy she would have been to see Caspian and John Faa-or even poor old crippled Farder Coram!-but none of them knew where she was. They weren't coming either. They couldn't help her.

Part of her had wanted to say, "That's all right, we'll help each other, nothing bad is going to happen.", but deep down she didn't really believe that, so she didn't say it. She merely goggled wordlessly at Lord Asriel, winced as the sleigh whizzed over the ice bridge, trying to ignore the cracking sounds she was sure she could hear, and swallowed hard at the lump in her throat. Once across she had hastily put her hand on her belly, wondering if the little one in there was as scared as she was.

"Susan!" Edmund shouted as he and Lucy came into view. "Hang on, we're coming!"

Still struggling to get all the wires of his equipment fully attached-and to keep them attached to Maugrim as well-Lord Asriel barely even glanced up.

He's almost ready, Lucy thought desperately, we have to get to him before...before that happens!

Then an unexpected voice screaming at the top of its lungs, "Asriel, don't!" rang out and a blonde head with the arms of a golden monkey wrapped around the smooth white neck appeared, breathless, but still as beautiful as ever.

She must have followed us across the bridge after we made it over here and the Lion left, Edmund decided, trying to comprehend how his mother could be standing right there.

The golden monkey leapt down and made his way over to Maugrim and Stelmaria, shrieking and shivering. He tried to get the snow leopard to loosen his grip on Maugrim, and while it seemed as though Stelmaria was trying very hard not to hurt the monkey, she still would not give way.

"Asriel, please!" Mrs. Coulter pushed passed Edmund and rushed over to Lord Asriel. "Don't do this! She's only seventeen, barely more than a child, Asriel. _My_ child."

Edmund could hardly believe that this tender-voiced woman, speaking so compassionately about his sister (the same one she had recently called a harlot and a whore, no less) was his mother. It wasn't at all the sort of voice that should have belonged to a woman who had cut away the dæmons of countless innocent children and had once blackened the eye of her own son; this honey-sweet, buttery voice should have belonged to someone else entirely.

Although he had no intention of giving up his life's work at the plea of an old lover, for some reason or other, he couldn't fully ignore her. She had always had such a powerful presence. Secretly, he found it deliciously draining and weakening. He'd loved Sarah, Farder Coram hadn't been wrong about that, but his feelings for Marisa were sharp and-at times-lustful. Try as he might, Lord Asriel had to admit that they had never fully gone away. He glanced up at her.

She seemed too pretty for someone who had just crossed a perilous ice bridge and hiked up a bunch of hills. Her cheeks were flushed, but that only made her striking complexion all the more vivid; a single coil of her short yellow hair hung out of place, but it looked almost as if it was supposed to be that way; and her shaking chin, which would have made anyone else look like a stupid infant, made her appear as forlorn as a princess trapped in a tower. Albeit a bit older than when he'd last seen her up close, a couple of new wrinkles near her mouth and forehead.

"Marisa," he mouthed inaudibly.

She didn't move, didn't blink. Her tears had stopped flowing and she was staring at him intently now. Lord Asriel remembered the first time they had ever met in Svalbard; he'd asked her if she was married, she'd said yes, it hadn't mattered. Back then, he could have honestly said that he loved her. Now, after all that had happened, he wasn't sure what he felt towards her. Disgust for her stupidity, of course. Anger for her spineless following of the Ruling Powers, certainly. Hurt over the fact that she had mercilessly tracked him down and had nearly had him thrown in prison and killed, without a doubt, even though he knew he very well might have done the same thing in her place. Or maybe he wouldn't have, seeing how much he detested the Ruling Powers. He knew he wouldn't have done that to Sarah, at least, but to Marisa? Who could say? There was a lot of hate built up there over the years. But was there love remaining under it?

Whether or not there was anything left between them was not what really mattered at the moment. Even if Susan Coulter was her daughter, he couldn't give up this chance to tear a door in the northern lights. If he gave himself up, if he let Edmund Coulter's daughter go free, he would never get to the Dust and he would be killed for heresy. Murdered by the Ruling Powers before he could bring about an end to their tyranny-before he could find out what Dust really was. He mustn't risk that, he decided, tearing his eyes away from Lady Marisa and focusing on the wires again.

Stelmaria growled angrily; the golden monkey had tricked her and managed to slip the wires away from Maugrim while she was focused on him and her master was staring intently at Marisa. Now the wolf-dæmon only had to get up, shake the snow off his back, and run back to his mistress-back to safety. The snow leopard wouldn't let him; as soon as she realized she had been tricked, she growled and pounced on the wolf again, pinning him down roughly (Susan let out a cry of pain), and snarling furiously at the golden monkey.

Edmund ran over to Susan and helped her to her feet. Ella clanked her beak and flapped her wings uncertainly. There was nothing they could do for Susan if they didn't get Maugrim freed. They could try to take her away with them, but they would only be helping Lord Asriel tear her from her dæmon when all was said and done if they did that.

The struggle between the three dæmons waged on and then paused suddenly-dramatically, even. A faint cracking sound could be heard and the golden monkey let out a wordless scream. Maugrim whimpered; and a roar erupted from Asriel's snow leopard. They had come to the edge of a snow-blank's cliff on the far side of the northern lights, and part of it, evidently less sturdy than it looked, had just broken off, snapping under their weight.

Lord Asriel's dæmon managed to let go of Maugrim and jump backwards to safety, but the wolf and the monkey appeared to be doomed to fall.

As the ice below his feet gave way, Maugrim called out, "Susan!"

Susan stumbled forward, falling down twice, trying to get to her dæmon before he fell. Stelmaria stopped her, though, by standing in her way and gritting her teeth threateningly. It occurred to her that the snow leopard would think nothing of breaking the infamous taboo now, when so much was on the line, and she thought of how horrible it would be to have that strong, wild jaw clamp onto your leg-or your neck.

"Susan!" Maugrim tried again as the ice got lower still and there was no chance of him jumping over to his human so that they might live for a moment longer and simply take their chances with the leopard.

Fear gripped her and Susan could do nothing but shake her head at him sadly, her eyes wide and filled to the brims with hard tears.

"Why doesn't he let her go to Maugrim?" Lucy wanted to know, taking a step forward.

Edmund seemed to understand, but he didn't stop to explain, he ran towards the commotion before his mother unexpectedly reached out and grabbed his shoulders with a death-grip, unwilling to let go.

Squawking, Ella swooped down at Mrs. Coulter and sunk her claws into the lady's ridiculously-smooth hands, trying to get the woman to let go of her son's shoulders. Lady Marisa wasn't budging. If it had been a man holding onto him, or if he had been a very different sort of boy, Edmund would have bitten her to get away, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to do so and went on fighting against her fairly.

The golden monkey screamed again and Mrs. Coulter started to fight back tears, all the while still tightening her grip on her son's shoulders so that he couldn't move away.

This was all very confusing to Lucy; she couldn't see why Mrs. Coulter didn't immediately run off and help her dæmon, or why Asriel wouldn't let Susan go to Maugrim now-seeing as he would surely fall to his death otherwise. Thinking quickly, she ran forward, Reepicheep in the form of a white tiger at her side, and charged at Mrs. Coulter. If she couldn't help Susan, then she could at least help Edmund get away from his mother. Absently, her eyes still on her hands on her son's shoulders, Mrs. Coulter kicked her so that she fell backwards in the snow.

That was pushing it for Edmund. He was willing enough that his mother should manhandle him the way she had always done, even if he wasn't hers anymore, but that she should dare to harm a hair on Lucy's head was the final straw. Forgetting all about playing fair, he sank his teeth into her hand and shoved away at her surprised yelp before she could grab him again. Oddly enough, she didn't try to, and he quickly figured out part of the reason. She knew he was going backwards to help Lucy to her feet, not over to where the two dæmons were sliding down the rapidly-splitting land; that was where she was apparently trying to keep him away from.

"Lucy, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she answered. "we've got to do something, Ed, they'll-" she stopped talking when she noticed Lord Asriel fiddling with his equipment out of the corner of her eye. "What is he doing?"

Edmund's jaw dropped and his chin shook with furry. "Why, that son of a-" he started.

It took a moment, but, finally, Lucy understood why Edmund was upset. Maugrim falling down the cliff would separate him from Susan and unleash the energy Lord Asriel wanted-supposedly needed. It wasn't the way he intended it to happen, but he was still trying to work with it, still trying to harness the power. That was why he wouldn't let Susan help him; because if he did that, she might fall over with her wolf-dæmon and they wouldn't be cut apart, they'd die together and such a death would be of no use to him.

Both monkey and wolf fell at an ever-quickening pace, Mrs. Coulter standing still as a statue, trapped in shock or apprehension, Lord Asriel ready to tear open the door, but suddenly it stopped. There was a small ledge onto which Maugrim had fallen and the golden monkey had dug his caws into the side of. Lord Asriel waited; he could tell it wasn't a strong ledge and that the monkey's dangling off of it like that wouldn't help it last longer. Maugrim would fall and the golden monkey would have to grab onto another rock and swing itself back up or else perish with the wolf.

No, Asriel thought, Marisa will save herself, she's good at that, she always has been.

The golden monkey would save his own skin, seeing as there probably wasn't anything he could do about saving the wolf anyway. Surely Marisa would rightly feel a little bad about losing Susan-it wasn't as if Asriel necessarily _wanted_ to kill the eldest Coulter child, he had nothing against her personally, save for some annoying, but mostly trivial, resemblances to her father-but her ladyship had never been very good at being motherly anyway, and besides, she still had Lyra if that child was foolhardy enough to ever trust her again. This was, after all, for the sake of Dust. Maybe even for the sake of all humanity. Asriel had always been very much a 'the end justifies the means' kind of nobleman, and he clung to that notion now more than ever before.

Secretly, a strange yearning pricked at Lord Asriel's calloused heart and made him want something he hadn't thought about wanting in years. Love, passion, companionship; it had been just him and his dæmon for a while now, but that might change. It might change if Marisa would come with him to that other world. Likely, she would protest. She would say it was wrong, that he was going to get them all killed and sentenced to life in Hell for this, but he thought he might persuade her. Perhaps with a kiss. He'd kiss her and take her hand, and when she felt the breeze from that other world on her face...she couldn't say no then, could she? She might think of her other lovers, but he'd tell her he knew all about them and didn't care. There was a good chance she'd whine like the shameless spoiled thing she was about him not really loving her and trying to destroy her along with the Ruling Powers if she said no. At this, he knew he would laugh and tell her that she was flattering herself and that he would only care whether or not she lived or died if she came with him. If she dared to say no, to let him go on alone, he wouldn't break-his heart wasn't made of glass-but neither would he give her a second thought. Ever. It was up to her; if she wanted him, he was hers for the taking, things were changing enough for that. If not, too bad, he didn't give a crud.

A minute ticked by like an hour. The golden monkey did the unthinkable. He let go. He let himself fall so that Maugrim's ledge wouldn't break off as quickly. Flashes of bright gold twinkled upwards, getting smaller and smaller as the monkey disappeared from sight. For whatever reason, Mrs. Coulter had just given up her life in hopes of saving her daughter.

Shock and confusion overwhelmed Susan and so she fainted before she fully took in what was happening. Her mother didn't faint, but there was no doubt, as she laid there in the snow she had been standing on a moment ago, her eyes half-closed, that she was dying. Edmund, in spite of everything, found himself drawn to her side, compelled to go to her and see her once last time, surprised by the freezing moisture in his eyes.

"My boy," she murmured, her blue eyes looking up into Edmund's brown ones. "my poor little boy."

Edmund wasn't sure if she was remembering him as a child or if she was simply attempting to be endearing. Nevertheless, he didn't comment on it.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, reaching up as though she wanted to touch his face-but hesitating when he flinched. Losing her dæmon had a baffling effect on her persistence level, she was too weak to be demanding. "I'm sorry for everything I ever did to you."

"Mother," he couldn't have been more stunned by the softened tone that poured out of his throat so automatically but, then, even a traitor could mend, he had known at least one that had.

"I gave up my soul," she said faintly, swallowing hard and sniffling.

He wasn't sure if she meant that she had just sacrificed her dæmon to save his sister, or if she meant that she wished she had never abused him. It didn't matter; all that mattered was that she said it to begin with.

"Marisa!" Lord Asriel was at her other side now, shaking her, trying to bring her back to herself though he knew he wasn't going to get anywhere.

"Asriel," She actually smiled at him, Edmund noticed. "My one true love."

Ew, thought Edmund, immediately feeing stupid and childish.

Even though she was dying and they were saying their goodbyes and she was too weak for her usual feisty ways, somehow Asriel and Marisa managed to get into an argument. Mrs. Coulter went from declaring her love for Lord Asriel to insinuating that his parents had never been married, all in that same, quiet, death-tone.

"God, Marisa, what the devil's the matter with you? Can't you understand what I'm trying to do?" he shouted after a moment of quietly glaring down at her, hating her, and then-almost magically-loving her again.

"I love you," she said after a shaky breath, further gone now. "I always have."

"I love you, too."

Meanwhile, Lucy tried to creep over to Susan, but was impeded by the snow leopard. Stelmaria had been looking down towards the place where the golden monkey had fallen with this deeply-pained look on her great cat-face, yet that didn't stop her from whirling around and hissing at Lucy when she got too close. Even then, Lord Asriel would not abandon his plans, he still intended to cut Susan and Maugrim apart.

Letting go of Lady Marisa's now-dead body, letting it fall gently down on the snow, a flawless corpse, he stood up and walked over to his dæmon, assisting her in blocking Lucy from getting to Susan.

Looking into Lord Asriel's eyes, searching for a glimmer of remorse in the distant gaze of his pale ice-coloured irises, Lucy cried, "You're my father, aren't you? You should have told me long before I found out from the Gyptians, it isn't right that you saw me and knew me and kept it a secret like that!"

"Don't be insolent-" he started, but Lucy was having none of it.

"No." she said through her tears. "No, you're not really my father. Fathers are supposed to love their daughters. You don't love me and I don't love you. I love Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie, they're my real parents, and I love Peter, and Ma Costa, and Farder Coram." She paused for a moment to let that sink into his headstrong thoughts. "I love an old crippled Gyptian more than I love the man who's supposed to be my father."

Stelmaria's face recoiled slightly, but Lord Asriel's itself remained unmoved completely.

"Farder Coram probably loves me more than you do, too," Lucy told him. "he'd have never tried to hurt Susan like this, never."

"Do you have any idea what's at stake?" Lord Asriel's face tightened and loomed angrily, his jaw line firm and strong just like his dæmon's. "Haven't you understood? The life of one girl doesn't matter when the stakes are this high."

Lucy's reply wasn't cold, it wasn't even angry, but it was right to the point. "Then why didn't you want to use me?"

If it had been Lyra, he would have shouted at her that she had no right to talk to him like that, but in Lucy at that moment, he must have seen something of Lady Sarah, some sort of bravery and righteousness. Something he couldn't scream at. Something he couldn't fight off with words or sternness. So, instead, he just turned his back to her and started walking towards his equipment again. He had to do this; Lucy would not stop him.

His hand went down to lift up a slowly-returning-to-consciousness Susan by the arm so that he could move her aside and try to figure out a way to break the rickety ledge Maugrim was on.

"Don't you dare touch her!" Edmund exclaimed, filled with rage as he rushed forward, meeting up with the snarling snow leopard just as Lucy had.

Seemingly out of the blue there was a popping _bang_ and Lord Asriel grunted in pain, dropping Susan back down into the snow where she landed on her knees, and put his hand to his upper arm.

He's injured, Lucy could tell clear as day, but how?

The answer came from a loud humming nose above and behind them; the sound of an engine. At first, both Lucy and Edmund feared that men working for the Ruling Powers had come in Mrs. Coulter's Zeppelin and meant to kill Lord Asriel and take them all to prison, but then they saw it was Lee Scoresby's air-ship. Iorek must have gotten word to them somehow.

White hands clinging to a familiar-looking rifle gleamed in the moonlight, untouched by the aurora's colours. They ought to have been Lee Scoresby's hands, seeing as it was his rifle, but they were too young to be his, fingers too smooth to belong to an old aeronaut. A step forward and more of the man appeared, young, certainly strong, but not a Gyptian nor a cowboy. It took a moment for Lucy to recognize her own brother standing there holding the gun, looking ghastly pale like a phantom from a nightmare, blond hair glowing as white as Iorek's fur in the rum lighting. But it was him; it was Peter who had just shot Lord Asriel in the arm. His aim wasn't fantastic, but it wasn't as poor as it could have been. After all, he'd hit him without killing him, hadn't he? Scoresby was a better marksman, probably, but he was needed to keep the air-ship moving.

Lord Asriel tried to shoot back, but they landed before a full fight could ensue, and because of his hurt arm, his aim was horribly off balance.

Peter was on his feet, running towards Susan, the second the ship hit anything even remotely like solid ground. The snow leopard got in his way; he struck the dæmon across the face with Lee Scoresby's rifle which he still carried in his hands.

Stelmaria leapt at him and, knocking him to the ground, sank her teeth into his neck. Skin was pierced and a drop of blood found its way onto the snow under him.

Susan let out a little cry and pulled her knees to her chest; half-convinced she was mad from the cold and was hallucinating.

"No, stop!" Lucy shouted, Reepicheep shifting wildly into just about every form he had ever had; Cats, panthers, mice, horses, wild-cats, pandas, raccoons, even insects, trying to distract the snow leopard.

Lyra and Lee Scoresby appeared, breathless and panting, their dæmons at their sides; Pantalaimon currently a hissing pole cat.

Before anything else could happen; before Lord Asriel could come forward; before Stelmaria could bite Peter's neck again; before Edmund could think of what to do next; a roar very like the one heard on the ice bridge drowned out all comprehensible thought.

It was a roar that released searing energy, ripping through the aurora, tearing the longed-for door through it like a shimmering veil of light. The Lion, Aslan, bounded across the hill, his tawny self, flowing mane, and tawny eyes steadier than anything Lucy or Edmund had ever seen before. His force knocked Stelmaria off of Peter, and the leopard ran back to her human.

Susan felt afraid of the Lion. Not of him eating her, somehow she knew at once even in her maddened state that he wouldn't do such a thing, but simply afraid of _him_.

As for Peter, still laid out on his back, he felt strangely excited, although he was unsure as to why.

Within less than a second, Lord Asriel looked into the Lion's face, avoiding his eyes, and then turned on his heels and calmly walked through the rainbow door, into the other world, his dæmon stalking slowly after him. And just like that, they were gone. Not a word of fear, remorse, gloating, apologizes; no, not a single word. They merely left and went about their business, undeterred, leaving everything-and everybody-else behind.

Unlike her father, Lyra looked straight into Aslan's eyes. Oddly enough, she found she had nothing to say to him, and in spite of his beauty, little need to look at him for much longer. There would, she knew in her heart, be another time for her and the Lion to meet again. Another time, perhaps even in another world, when she knew more about Dust and had discovered her own place within her destiny.

Reaching into her pocket, taking her golden compass tightly in both hands, she said, "Pan, let's go."

"Lyra-" he flew in the form of a hawk onto her shoulder. He wanted both to protest and to go along willingly. He gave in. They were going into that other world with Lord Asriel. It wasn't for sure that they'd stay there, but they were going now.

"Lyra!" Edmund reached out to grab her wrist.

She shook her head at him and hugged him goodbye quickly. "I have to do this."

Lucy waved sadly, wanting to stop her friend, but knowing she couldn't-maybe even shouldn't.

Lyra waved back; to Lucy, to all of them, actually. She hoped the best for Susan, certain that the Lion would help her and get Maugrim to safety before it was too late. She knew she would miss Scoresby and Peter; but this had to be done. She vanished into the northern lights-just like her father.

Aslan let out a slow breath that gently brought Maugrim's ledge closer to the top of the cliff. The wolf didn't think he would be able to climb up, bruised and battered a bit too much to move, but then he found he could jump quite comfortably and suddenly didn't feel injured anymore.

"Maugrim!" Susan threw her arms around her dæmon. "Oh, dear Maugrim!"

"Are you alright, Susan?" her wolf-dæmon asked.

"Fine," she answered, her eyes drifting over to Peter who still hadn't gotten up. "Come on."

The next thing Peter knew Susan stumbled over to him and threw her arms around his neck, which no longer felt the pain from the snow leopard's clamping jaws.

As they held each other tightly, each whispering that they were safe now and it was all going to be fine, Lucy went over to meet Aslan. She found herself shaky at first, but the moment he spoke to her in his deep, rich, perfectly golden voice, she knew more than ever that she was right. Dust was good. _He_ was good.

After speaking with Lucy, the Lion spoke to Edmund alone, and what they talked about remained a mystery for Edmund never told anyone what it was, not even his own dæmon.

Then, to Peter, Aslan said, "Son of Adam, come forward, I must show you something."

Peter came, Susan and Maugrim walking along-side him.

"Look into the northern lights," said Aslan.

When he looked, he saw, not the city in the world Lord Asriel and Lyra had just gone into, but a besieged battlefield somewhere in Europe. It was his own world, he recalled, remembering that they had been in a war back when they'd come into this one through Lord Digory's wardrobe.

There was a man, alone in one of the trenches, left for dead, gasping, hurt and in need of help.

Peter's face fell and he took a step back, stricken with horror.

"Who's that?" Susan blurted out.

"My dad," Peter murmured, mouthing the words more than he spoke them.

"Daddy?" Lucy felt hard icy tears sticking to her face again. Peter was quite correct, it _was_ Mr. Pevensie hurt in the war. Time must have passed differently there.

"I have to help him," Peter said, looking over at Aslan pleadingly.

"You may go, son of Adam." Aslan replied.

He slipped his arm around Susan's waist uncertainly. He couldn't leave without her; what if something happened and he couldn't find a way back into this world after he'd helped his father? What if he lost her for ever that way? He couldn't bear it. Nor would his sense of honour stand for getting a woman pregnant and then leaving her behind.

Aslan nodded as if to assure him that he could take his wife with along with him.

"What about Lucy?" he said after a pause.

The Lion sighed deeply. "I'm sorry, Peter, Lucy will stay here, this is where she has to be-this is her world."

Embracing his little sister and holding her close for what he knew might be the last time, feeling more pain in separating from her even than he expected, he whispered, "We'll see each other again. I don't know how, Lu, but we will. I promise. I'll be keeping my eyes out for you, and maybe someday when all the worlds are one and we can all live together, we'll find each other and we'll never part again after that."

Reepicheep became a cat and rubbed against Peter's legs. Susan gave Lucy a quick hug and a light kiss on the forehead while Maugrim gently gave Reepicheep a friendly nudge.

"Are you afraid, Susan?" Peter asked once everyone else besides themselves and Maugrim were out of ear-shot.

"No, you're with me, I'm not afraid. I was afraid with Lord Asriel and with my mother, but never when I'm with you."

And the girl who was once a Coulter, now a Pevensie, turned away from the world she was born in, and walked into the northern lights, into the sky.

Hours later, Lucy and Edmund stopped back at Lord Asriel's study to rest for the morning and to see if Thorold would fix them something to eat. They knew they couldn't stay there long, that the Ruling Powers would be coming soon enough and they would have to move on and leave the place behind, but for now, they dared to rest.

"Thorold," Lucy asked when they'd all eaten their fills and were sitting silently in the room, listening to the clock tick. "What will you do now? Are you going to come with us?" Reepicheep, in the form of a black-footed ferret, glanced over at the pincher curiously.

"No," he answered. "I will wait here. It is my duty to wait in case his lordship should ever come back and need my assistance."

"I don't think he'll be coming back any time soon," Edmund said dryly, taking a sip of some wine that Thorold, forgetting they were a bit young for that, had taken out for them to have with their breakfast (supposedly it went well with eggs). Ella yawned and ruffled her feathers.

"Regardless, I wait."

"Very well, then." said Edmund.

"Will you need anything else?" Thorold asked. "I'll be going back to the kitchen soon."

"No, thank you."

The manservant bowed gracefully as he and his dæmon turned to leave.

Once they were gone, Lucy couldn't resist taking out the silver pocket watch and asking it about Peter. She had to know where he was, and if he had made it to their father in time. She saw it through instinct; Mr. Pevensie on a crutch, gesturing with his good arm, telling some sort of exciting story, Susan and Peter listening, Maugrim sitting at their feet, Peter's hand resting tenderly on his wife's belly.

Lucy smiled.

Edmund glanced over at the alethiometer in her hands with sleepy interest. "What is it telling you, Lu?"

"It's telling me about my father,"

"Lord Asriel?"

"No, my true father."

"Peter's dad?"

"Yes."

"What about him?"

Her smile widening, "That we brought him exactly what he needed."


End file.
